


There Ain't No Such Thing

by WhoNatural



Category: Grease (1978), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acting, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asshole Stiles Stilinski, Awkward Conversations, Bad Boy Stiles, Biphobia, Blow Jobs, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canonical Character Death, Car Sex, Coming of Age, F/M, First Time, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, Internal Conflict, Intimacy, Jock Derek, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Multiple, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Past Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Past Heather/Stiles Stilinski, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Promiscuous Stiles Stilinski, Recreational Drug Use, Redemption, Rumors, School Dances, Self-Doubt, Semi-Public Sex, Sexuality, Shy Derek, Singing, Stilinski Family Feels, Strained Friendships, Strained Relationships, Summer Romance, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/pseuds/WhoNatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek couldn’t really care less that he’s spending his senior year with the students of a “disadvantaged high school” as Devenford Prep is merged with Beacon Hills High. He’s got enough on his mind with securing a lacrosse scholarship and trying to figure out why Stiles, the secretly-kind bad boy he spent all summer with at the country club never bothered to say goodbye. </p><p>But then, maybe instead of heated make-out sessions and snarky flirting, he should have bothered to ask Stiles a little more about himself - like his full name, or what school he attended...</p><p>(AKA, the Grease AU nobody asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer Dreams Ripped at the Seams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleep0bleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/gifts), [Finduilas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/gifts), [mikkimouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/gifts), [bon (paintedrecs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedrecs/gifts).



> So two things I've never really written properly before - high school AU or summer fic! This is the result of a twitter conversation with bleep0bleep that several others chimed in on, and before I knew it I was plotting a 12 chapter story... This is for you guys, and I hope it's worth all the silly questions I've been posting on your TL!  
> This is LOOSELY based on the plot of Grease, a little modernised and tweaked.  
> You get the first 2 chapters at once, because I'm generous like that, but after the first week, I'll be posting a chapter every Monday - schedule permitting!  
> Also, don't expect to like Stiles very much in the beginning. He's kind of an ass, but I'll fix it.  
> Title is from Grease (1978) - when Sandy tries to tell Rizzo that Danny was 'special'.  
> Thanks goes to the wonderful loveandallthat7 for being my beta. You're so awesome that I'd need too many commas to describe you.

 

  
_**Prologue** _

To the fatalistic observer, the crash of the waves would sound like an oncoming storm. Their resounding roar broke against the cliffs in a gentle, breath-like heartbeat, and the horizon was a clear line ahead. The last tremor of summer’s touch still warmed the breeze, even as the sky opened up to showcase its cluster of stars, stretching out in a spaceless blanket to the sea below. Air currents played with strands of their hair, catching wisps of light like halos in the moonlight.

Derek watched him as he looked ahead, and smiled.

“That one is uh,” Stiles pointed, thinking. “Habaneros Major. The Pepper Constellation.”

“Pepper constellation,” Derek parroted. He turned fully in the sun-warmed grass to face him and crossed his legs - like the sky held little interest to him right then, if at all.

“Yep,” Stiles said, eyes darting to take in his difference in position and then back to the view. “Very famous. Right next to it is The Peanut.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Named for...?”

“Its discoverer named it, Dr Reese.”

Derek gave up and let the laugh take him. “Reese’s Peanut. Noted.”

Stiles grinned but held his hands out. “Hey, trying to educate you here.”

“Sure, sorry,” Derek apologized, then mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“Daenerys Targaryenus...”

“Okay,” Derek burst out, his smile blinding then, almost heart-stopping in its rarity. “That was a Game of Thrones reference. You told me you knew the constellations. And it wasn’t a - I quote - ‘ruse to get me to the cliffs and feel me up.’’”

“I said I know _some_ constellations,” Stiles corrected. “I don’t like the insinuation that I’m just a pretty face with a libido, either.”

“Alright, show me.” Derek folded his arms and Stiles got a determined look in his eye. The water reflected off the dark brown of his irises, illuminating tiny flecks of gold therein.

“There’s Orion,” he named, leaning into Derek’s space and pointing. On purpose.

He smelled like the salt of the shore and sun-kissed skin. After a moment, Derek tore his eyes away and glanced.

“That’s The Big Dipper.”

“Whoa, okay, didn’t know I had an expert here,” Stiles retorted mockingly. Derek wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes, hiding his face from the moon’s glow. Stiles went quiet for a long beat; long enough that Derek sobered and looked up to find Stiles assessing the wonder in front of him closely. He pointed.

“Canes Venatici.”

“Hmm?”

“Canes Venatici,” Stiles repeated, careful with the pronunciation. He met Derek’s eye. “The hunting hounds.”

Derek frowned as Stiles reached up to the collar of his shirt and tugged it aside, revealing a line where the light tan of his skin gave way to a lighter color. “My mom took this online astronomy course - she was always doing that kind of stuff - and she noticed this one constellation, named by a Polish astronomer back in the seventeenth century. Canes Venatici.”

His finger rested on a spot by his clavicle, and standing stark out against the skin was a tiny grouping of moles, forming the same shape as the pattern of stars in the sky. Derek swallowed in awe, lightly tracing the pad of his thumb over the marks. Stiles’ body shivered.

“Beautiful,” he said, staring at the guy before him.

Stiles looked back, and his eyes were a shade of vulnerable they hadn’t yet been. He offered a cracked smile before he sighed in some mixture of nerves and relief. Hesitantly, Derek pressed his lips to the constellation, breathed the summer off his skin, and blocked out the thought that sure as the stars will appear each night until forever, the season would end, and they’d go back to their real lives.

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

“Yeah, I’m pulling up to it now. Hey, did you see the fucking _gargoyles_ at the front gates?”

“I was more worried someone with an AK was gonna ask to see my credentials,” Scott snorts down the phone. “This is kind of unreal.”

Stiles switches gear, jeep protesting, as the entryway opens up to reveal a building Stiles had only previously seen in photographs. He feels his eyebrows rise in reaction and blinks.

“Always the master of understatement, Scott,” he breathes.

Devenford Prep looks like the Xavier School had sex with Hogwarts some time during the Elizabethan era. Stone columns frame the entrance, below a tacky-by-juxtaposition banner that reads:

_WELCOME, BEACON HILLS HIGH CLASSMATES!_

It has a high, flat roof with intricate mouldings on the parapets. More windows than he can count stretch the expanse of the front, echoing back back to numerous extensions and smaller buildings that take up more of the sprawling grounds. The addition of a modern, asphalt parking lot scattered with teenagers in present-day fashions is the only indication that the scene before him isn’t pulled straight from period adaptation about a British boarding school. Theres also the procession of luxurious, brand new cars parked in the spaces or idling as they scope out spots. Stiles pulls into one close enough to the entrance (and not quite next to a brand new porsche to draw comparison) and his phone beeps, indicating a caller on the other line.

“It’s my dad,” he tells Scott, blinking indecisively at the screen. “He’ll leave a message. Where are you, anyway?”

He hops out of the jeep and looks around, not seeing many familiar faces at a cursory glance. There are clusters of guys gathered around some of the cars, or girls catching each other up after a summer apart in excited tenors. Everyone here looks devastatingly rich, devastatingly beautiful, or both; not your typical BHHS attendee. Which is sort of great news for Stiles, since that seems to be his type lately.

“I’m on the quad. Dude, they have a Starbucks here. On _campus_. Can you believe that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it’s probably necessary if it takes a half hour drive to the nearest metropolitan area. Remind me why you’re excited about this?”

“You’re the one who always said our high school was a shithole. I’m still not totally convinced the flooding was nothing to do with you.”

Stiles smirks. “You’re not the only one.”

“Yeah, says the guy who got to spend the summer at a country club, not ‘bonding’ with ‘Raf’.”

His smirk turns into a scowl; Scott’s usually the last person to lay the guilt trip on him for something he’s done. “Hey, I said sorry. And you know the country-club-thing was supposed to be a punishment.”

“Yeah, terrible punishment,” Scott drawls. “Listen, Allison just got here. I’m gonna see if she’s still pretending I don’t exist. Come find me!”

Stiles glares at the ended call in offense. _Where_ exactly? This place has its own zip code. He walks aimlessly toward where most of the other students are heading, and thumbs the screen again. The little bubble by his phone icon reminds him that his Dad had been calling, and he braces himself for the voicemail.

“ _Hey, kid. Had to be at the station early. Sorry I didn’t get to see you before the big day. Senior year, huh? Never thought I’d see it. You know, your mom would... [muffled cough]. Anyway. Good luck, and stay out of trouble...”_

Stiles rolls his eyes as his dad’s voice turns from encouraging to serious.

“ _Please, son - stay out of trouble. It’d be nice to have a whole month where I don’t have to go down there and--”_

“ _The message has been deleted.”_

He tightens his grip around the device, grinding his jaw for a moment as the wave of guilt passes. It’s not like he does it all on purpose - sometimes Dad acts like he does, and it’s getting pretty old, really. Stiles is an opportunist, and sometimes opportunities present themselves which aren’t entirely inconsequential or “within the realms of legality”..

“Heather! Hey!” he leers when he sees the first of his own schoolmates, already ensconced in her usual flock of beautiful, dead-behind-the-eyes followers. She frowns at the sound of his voice and turns before grunting and walking on, like he’s offended her by existing. Figures.

Heather is one out of a potential thousand, and it’s not like she has the same pull she did back when Beacon Hills High was just Beacon Hills High and not a merged student body with Devenford Prep. The best thing for Stiles to do this year is start anew and acquaint himself with as many of his new peers as possible before graduation. It’s a never-ending quest, and he’s nothing if not thorough. It’s in the interest of research for him to find out if The Prep really does have the very best Beacon Hills has to offer, right?

The schools have always been rivals - due only to geographic vicinity, not because they’re actually on a par or anything. The class divide in the town isn’t really tangible, but the district that The Prep serves encompasses most of Beacon Valley, which also happens to be where the population of doctors, lawyers, CEOs and entrepreneur types mostly reside. With a student body that includes the spawn of _those_ kinds of people, it’s hardly a challenge to drum up donations for better sports facilities or building repairs or what have you. Both institutions may be public, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end.

Of course, The Prep has always tried to uphold a tradition of philanthropy, so when their poor, disadvantaged neighbors in Beacon Hills proper had their high school mysteriously destroyed due to flood damage and _possibly_ one or two small fires, it wasn’t long before they offered to open their doors to the huddled masses.

Some of whom Stiles sees for the first time when he makes it to the quad.

“Stiles!” Erica bellows, causing several freshmen to cower. “Where the fuck have you been? And what the fuck is on your head?”

He beams back at her, pulling off his sunglasses to hook in his shirt before running a palm through his newly-grown-out hair. She comes to a stop in front of him to get a feel for herself, and looks suitably impressed.

“Felt like a change,” he says, heart pounding over the vagueness of his own reasoning. “Like?”

“ _Love_!” she exclaims. “Now we don’t have to look at your weird-shaped skull.”

“Yeah, such a hardship for you,” he snarks. “It’s common knowledge you’ve been trying to get in my pants since the seventh grade.”

She cocks her head, ruby lips pulling left in a smirk. “Sure, just like it’s common knowledge that I’m one of the few people who _hasn’t_ been led down that dark path.“

“Keep it that way, if you’re in any way intelligent,” another voice cuts in.

Stiles spins, grin in place - “Danny!" - before he promptly drops it - “And... Matt.” He points between them, nodding toward their joined hands. “This a new development?”

“Summer thing,” Danny explains, letting his hand drift up to comb through Matt’s dark hair.

It strikes Stiles how little he’s bothered by it. Being with Danny had been pretty refreshing; they had an agreement, and they stuck to it. No feelings, just bonded by a love of good sex and anonymously fucking shit up. Stiles had decided he wanted him the moment he found out about his juvenile hacker rapsheet, and Danny, well. Stiles has more hands-on methods of persuasion.

Stiles narrows his eyes, making a show of checking the date on his phone. “Hmm, thought I was mistaken, but no... it actually _is_ the end of summer. Did someone not tell you?”

“Yeah,” Matt snorts, “Just because whoever you spent the last few months squirting your DNA into cut you loose, doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone.”

Stiles swallows past the lurch in his stomach and smiles. “Figured me out, huh?”

“Who was it this time, Stiles?” Erica asks leerily, gearing up for gossip. “College wrestler, or some Mrs Robinson type?”

Alright, so at one point his track record may have used the description _anything that moves_ ; there was the single mom last fall and one of his dad’s deputies who _may_ have only found out how old he was and _who_ he was the week after - but he’d like to think he’s evolved from that. Stiles’ sexual preferences have always been a little all over the place, sure, but the one constant has been ‘hot’ and ‘willing’. He does pretty well.

“I’m hurt you think so little of me,” he deflects.

“Wait,” Erica says, holding up a finger. “I heard your dad packed you off to some country club for the summer to keep you out of trouble. Someone there?”

“‘Packed off’ insinuates I lived there. I didn’t.”

“So it’s true,” Danny comments. “And you definitely hooked up with someone.” Stiles raises a brow, and Danny scoffs. “C’mon, it’s _you._ ”

Stiles throws his head back and laughs. “Jesus, what is this, an interrogation?” he says evasively, and they just stare at him. _Fuck it._ “Okay, maybe...”

* * *

Derek taps on the steering wheel, checks the time again, and sighs.

“...dress code, and I’m not defending you!”

“Bye, Mom!” Cora calls back to their mother’s disembodied voice, and throws the door shut. It rattles the frame, and the ornate planter hanging from the left hand side rattles on the joist. She pauses for a second, hands held out, and then dives into the passenger seat, scowling.

“ _You’re the last of the fifth Hale generation, Cora. Your great-great-grandfather was a founder of the school, and there are certain expectations..’_ Come _on._ ”

“We all got the speech,” Derek replies blandly, pulling on to the driveway. He holds back from gunning the engine like he really wants to, not really in the mood to get a reprimanding text.

“Just agree and leave. That’s what I do.”

Cora wrinkles her nose and tugs her skirt further down her thighs. Derek can definitely imagine what their mother had to say about it - and Cora should know better - but he keeps his mouth shut.

“That’s because you came after _Laura_ \- nobody can dare to act out after the golden child.”

Derek fights back a grin - everything from the past year has been about _Laura’s on the Dean’s list_ and _Laura got four internship offers_ and _Laura’s_ _apartment is so tasteful._

“You hear from her?”

“Yeah, called me from the library last night to coo over my first day at high school and sympathize that all the ‘disadvantaged’ are infesting my freshman year. Why do I feel like everyone is more invested than I am?”

“I don’t particularly care,” Derek shrugs, and she swats him on the arm.

“That’s because you’re secretly worried I’ll ruin your street cred, but Isaac’s already done that.”

Derek pulls out of the iron gates and on to the road. He glances at his sister in reproach, and he knows it’s not going to be the first time today.

“Cut him some slack, okay?”

“It’s not like it’s his _fault_ , he’s just--”

“Richard’s really hard on him, you know that.” Derek swallows. Isaac’s not riding with them this morning so that Richard could continue one of his famous pep-talks on the way to school. They’re named ironically; last night Derek had been witness to a seven-point rundown of all the ways Isaac disappointed his father in his sophomore year, along with various threats to his basic freedom if there was a repeat. It was pretty excruciating, and Derek wasn’t even on the receiving end of it. Sometimes it’s better not to intervene - Isaac gets less humiliated that way.

“Yeah,” Cora snorts, “ _Richard_ , who has a lot of opinions and rules for someone living in _our_ house...”

“I get it,” Derek sighs in solidarity, taking the turn to the winding road that brings it to Devenford’s outer campus. It’s a familiar route, and Derek’s pretty sure he’s done it in his sleep at least once over the past three years. “But, he’s our stepdad now. We just have to... live with it. Mom seems happy.”

Cora raises a brow, “Does she, though? I literally never see them spending any time together that isn’t somehow family-mandated. With Dad--”

“That was a different kind of relationship,” Derek reasons. “They were college sweethearts, travelled the world together.. had children together. They were--”

“Soulmates,” Cora finishes wryly. “I’ve heard the stories, too.”

“All I’m saying is, as long as Mom’s happy, we have to support her.”

“You sound like Laura,” Cora observes with suspicion. “She said the same thing the day they got married.”

Derek fights a smile, tilting his head. “ _There’s a reason Laura Hale is a--_ ”

“-- _White House intern two summers running!_ ”they quote together. Cora dissolves into giggles, pressing a palm to her face..

“If I have to hear Mom tell someone that one more time...”

Derek smiles. “She’s just proud, let her have this.”

Cora sobers. “It’s good to see you laughing again.” At his frown, she elaborates. “For a week-or-so there I thought we’d have to buy a new punching bag for the workout room.”

He clears his throat, realising he’s almost missed the turn into the school’s parking lot. It’s not an overstatement - the only reason he’d stopped using it and taken to running instead was because his hand was starting to give him pain, and the last thing he needs, especially this year, is an injury.

“I’m okay,” he says self-consciously, wondering when his baby sister got so astute. Then, if they’re talking reputations, he’s definitely got one of his own.

Derek’s always received criticism for being... what was it Laura called him? _‘Under-expressive_ ’? It’s common knowledge that Derek will never go ahead and verbalize a problem until he’s confronted about it, choosing instead to use passive-aggression and sighs. He’s grown out of it a little, so it’s kind of an unfair trait to bestow on him. This, though, he thinks should be his alone to deal with however he wants.

“If you say so. I thought it might have had something to do with the pool-bo--”

“Is that Jackson over there?” Derek interrupts, nodding out the window. Cora instantly goes beet-red.

“Please, I got over that crush in the fifth grade,” she says, yet her eyes dart to the Camaro’s side mirror anyway to check her appearance.

“Right,” Derek says, putting the car in park. “So it’s okay if I tell him about it? That way we can all laugh--”

“Bye, Derek!” she yells, hopping out of the passenger side and immediately getting swallowed up by a group of her peers.

Derek huffs as he arms the alarm and steps away. It is surreal to have Cora in his school again. Strangely, they’ve gotten closer in their teenage years rather than more distant. Grief can do that to a family, and if there’s one thing that their mom instilled from birth, it’s that Hales stick together.

Someone maybe should have told Dad that, but then he did a lot of things Hales don’t do.

He’s not sure if he expected the place to look all that different with their new students. There’s a banner, a few unfamiliar faces - but then, it’s not like he knew _everyone_ as it was - and some less-pristine cars in the parking lot. He scans them, smiling, imagining what Jackson’s classist overreaction will be. From the edge of his vision, a flash of light blue stands out. He turns and almost immediately stumbles into a petite redhead, right in his path.

“Uh, sorry,” he immediately says, while she launches into a tirade about her shoes being worth more than his house until she looks him over. Her mouth clamps shut.

“Or maybe not. Lydia.” She extends her hand out delicately and Derek takes it, almost completely unsure of what’s happening.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re making each other’s acquaintance. I thought you Devenford boys were supposed to have manners?”

“How did you know I’m from Devenford?” he asks, suddenly hyper-aware of his appearance. She begins pointing at his clothes.

“Armani, Dolce, and a little dated YSL,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Are you telling me you’re not?”

“Derek,” he says, huffing out an exasperated breath. “And I really don’t get much of a say in this.” He plucks at his shirt almost apologetically and raises a brow. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s fine. Something tells me you’d be pretty in J-Crew and cleats. You can escort me to class.”

“Is this your way of asking for directions?”

She eyes him shrewdly. “I need the Wilson Wing.”

Derek smirks. She reminds him of a strange combination of his sisters, in fact. Cora’s attitude and overconfidence with Laura’s social intelligence and primness.

“It’s this way, but we need to cross the quad. Word of advice, heels aren’t a good idea here.”

“And I thought I was moving _up_ , not down,” she laments, but he can tell she’s amping it up for effect. “So tell me, Derek, any other advice for a single girl beginning her senior year where the school’s population has increased by two thirds?”

“I can’t see how it’d be much different from Beacon Hills High,” he says carelessly, leading the way. “Same sports, same stress... a couple more Bentleys in the parking lot.”

“So I’m not potentially enraging some rich future socialite by being seen with you?” she prods, easily keeping step in her shoes. The look on her face suggests she’d be happy with his answer either way, and that says enough on its own. This girl’s not out to make any new friends.

“No,” he replies, giving a ghost of smile. “There isn’t anyone - I’m not seeing anybody.”

Lydia halts to look at him properly. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s an ‘anymore’ hovering around the end of that sentence?”

Derek opens his mouth and closes it again. Is he that obvious? Hell, his fifteen year old sister knew something was up, but he’s pretty sure he’d made it past the moping stage and into quiet acceptance. After all, if someone who spends an entire summer with you completely changing your world and making you feel like a new person can just disappear without so much as a goodbye, then maybe it didn’t mean as much to them as it did to you.

“Summer thing, he’s- it’s done now.”

Lydia pulls a sympathetic face. “High school guy?” Derek raises a brow. “Yeah. No offense, but I’m yet to find one that hasn’t let me down. At least from my school.”

“I don’t even know what school Stiles went to,” Derek laments bitterly. “It’s pretty fucked.”

He walks on for a few steps before realizing she isn’t following him. They’re on the quad, and he assumes she’s taking in the scene at her new school until he gets a look at the expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“His name is--“ She presses her lips together and does this thing with her eyes that’s somewhere between surprise and blind rage - he doesn’t know her well enough to make the call yet. “Come with me.”

Derek gets tugged along with a staggering amount of strength. “Wait, I thought I was supposed to be leading you--”

“Derek,” she says in a tone that makes him hesitate. She raises her brows over his shoulder, and Derek almost stumbles back into her.

It’s him. Derek would know that soft, brown hair and the outline of those shoulders anywhere. Stiles is dressed differently - his jeans are rugged and tight and there’s plaid poking out from beneath a soft leather jacket, but it’s him. Derek spent the whole summer almost worryingly fixated on that butt, and when Stiles throws his head back and laughs at something said by the people in front of him, Derek’s chest feels like it’s been hit by a bowling ball.

“Alright, so there was this one guy,” Stiles is saying, and Derek’s heart does this embarrassing little stutter at the sound of his voice.

He’s heard it become quiet and guarded, or loud when he’s excited, or - Derek’s favorite - sleepy and content at the end of a long, summer day. He’s magnetized toward it. There’s nothing on the planet more important than the fact Stiles is _here_. He’s here and Derek was sure he’d never see him again, but like every half-formed, idiotic wish over the past couple of weeks was somehow granted, Stiles is in his life once more.

“...super hot. Eager. One of the silver-spoon kids at the country club. Corruptible, you know? He fell pretty hard for me, I think,” Stiles finishes, then laughs. He _laughs._ Derek’s feet still, and the flutter of his heart becomes this awful, ominous pounding. Stiles couldn’t - he wouldn’t talk -

“I got out of it before he got too attached, though. Shame.”

Derek hadn’t noticed Lydia coming to stand beside him, so he jumps when she shouts Stiles’ name loud enough for him to spin, clutching his chest. Several onlookers turn curiously, watching the exchange with begrudging interest. Derek feels their attention on him like a brand, amping up his heart rate.

“Jesus _Christ_ Lydia, you-” The moment Stiles lays eyes on him, for that split second, it’s like everything is as it was. “ _Derek?_ ” he says, voice laced with pure, disbelieving elation.

Derek, for his part, is fused to the spot, paralyzed by fear and hurt and everything he would have sworn up and down a week ago - hell, an _hour_ ago - that Stiles would never inflict on him. But Derek just walked into something he definitely wasn’t supposed to hear, and Stiles seems to realize that, seconds after he abortedly steps forward.

“Derek,” he says more calmly. “Hey - uh, how’ve you been?”

“And who’s this?” a pretty blonde, dressed all in black says from behind him. She gives Derek a slow once over and shares a smile with the guys she’s standing with, suggesting they know exactly who he is. One of them bites his lip, giving the other an awkward grimace, and he snorts.

“Derek?” Stiles says again, and his face, trained away from the others, is full of concern. It’s fake. Nobody could talk about someone the way Stiles had been and actually give a shit about them. Derek feels his cheeks burn. He steps away on Stiles’ advance, shoving his trembling hands in his pockets. He turns to go, and Stiles makes to follow, calling out his name. Derek can’t hear it right now. Can’t even _look_ at him.

He turns as he walks off, throwing a _“Fuck you,”_ over his shoulder as he goes. He’s not quite sure to be disappointed or relieved when Stiles lets him.

Mostly, he’s just devastated.

 


	2. Summer Fling, Don't Mean a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek and Stiles find they still have a lot to learn about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indented text is flashback. There will be LOTS of flashbacks in this story, and not all in chronological order. I'll try to make it clear as possible in the text, but Stiles' hair length is also a good indication, haha.

 

All of the corridors in this place look the same. Stiles feels like he’s walked at least a quarter mile through each echoing, winding passageway, but every time he follows a sign, it just leads to a place he’s almost sure he’s seen before. It’s not like he’s all that _eager_ to get to class, but he’d kind of needed to pick a direction when homeroom ended and he could see Lydia hovering around the doorway, itching to either question him or smack him upside the head. He clenches his fist past the wave of guilt that overtakes him and stutters his steps, but keeps going.

There are muffled murmurs coming from classrooms on each side. Natural light from the innumerable windows bathe the dark mahogany in the morning sun, and the place smells like polish and dust, aging the building beyond the intermittent emergence of modern conveniences installed for the school’s usually-privileged students.

It’s an odd feeling. Unlike most of his peers, Stiles hasn’t given much thought to his plans after high school. He’d pretty much accepted that life had dealt him a certain hand and just rolled with it, letting things pan out how they were meant to. It goes against his nature, but he learned a long time ago that premeditation didn’t matter all that much when fate had other plans. He could schedule his existence down to the hour, listing outcomes and making choices - and enjoy it - but it wouldn’t really be of any use in the end. Not when there was a roadblock waiting to be thrown in your path. But a place like this, with its proud history of feeding the Ivy League and the desire to seemingly treat the students like a commodity rather than a burden, makes him ponder for the first time in a while if this is what college would be like. It definitely seems closer than the fluorescent-lit, stain-ceilinged hallways of BHHS.

The sound of music cuts through the subtle din. It’s not recorded, as it stops and starts; someone is rehearsing a piece and hasn’t quite perfected it yet. Without any other options - he’d accepted that he was lost a while ago - he follows it, letting himself be led by the mellifluous tones down yet another corridor. There’s a door cracked open at the end, and the sound swells when he turns toward it, like a game of hotter/colder set to a soundtrack. He shrugs off his jacket and tucks it under his arm, over-conscious of the creak of leather when he moves.

There’s a girl inside. Dark hair and pale skin not that different from his own. When he steps past the doorway, he sees she even has a few moles scattered around her jaw and neck where it’s tilted out of the way of the head of the cello she’s playing. The music stops, and Stiles freezes when she turns to him with a raised brow.

“Can I help you?”

Stiles blinks at her and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I, uh, do you know where I can find the Fallon Wing?”

The girl lets out a breath and raises her bow again. “The complete opposite direction. You’re in the Hale wing. Fallon is south of the quad. Didn’t you get a map?”

“Seems like I lost it.”

The girl turns her sheetmusic over disinterestedly. “Or you thought you were too cool to be seen reading a map.” She looks up. “Hint: it’s even less cool to get lost.”

Stiles can feel himself thrown off-kilter by how quickly she’s sussing him out. “Thanks for the advice.”

“No problem. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I only have one free period.”

He holds his hands up. “Sure, uh... sorry.” He turns to walk away, but the questions is ready to leap off his tongue and if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll only have to ask someone else later. “When you said this was the Hale Wing...” She looks at him expectantly and he rushes to the point. “Is that - That implies that this Hale person was a big deal for your school, right?”

“Founder,” she says consideringly. “Why, have a special interest in the Hale family?”

Stiles tries for unconcerned, but he’s probably missing the mark. “No, just--just curious.”

“Okay,” the girl says, letting the response hang in the air. Stiles itches under her suspicion and almost slumps when she turns back to her instrument. “Well, a few of the Hales still go here. You could ask them, since you’re so curious and all.”

He swallows at the confirmation. “Like Derek?”

This time, her attention snaps up. “You know Derek?”

He backs out of the room properly this time, throwing in a shrug for good measure. “Not, uh... not really, apparently.”

* * *

Trying his best to stay out of the direct eye-line of Sra. Calavera, Derek slinks into the third row as inconspicuously as possible before his teacher arrives. From experience, he knows that she tends to pick on those who choose the back row, and the front row get acquainted with the intensity of her glare in high definition. The veterans stick to the middle.

He’d groaned when his schedule coughed up the death-by-rolling-rs knell that was _AP Spanish - A. Calavera_ , and the time he’s spent dreading this class ever since hasn’t really helped much. She _last names_ him. Every time, like his title isn’t two separate words, but rather one heavily-accented insult that seizes every muscle in his body. Derek can’t even explain it - the woman is five foot nothing and should not be so terrifying.

The distraction of his own sense of doom was a _little_ help after what happened with Stiles, but watching the rest of his classmates bustle into the room and noticing that there are couple _very_ new faces slaps him around with the reminder.

Stiles is at his school now. He’s here, when Derek thought it could be the best thing to possibly happen, and it turned out to be the one thing that gutted him further after how they parted.

He feels it like an open wound; something corrupting his insides and tainting every good memory he had of the summer with the crushing reality of fall. Especially when, in heels that somehow manage to echo off the high ceilings over the hum of different conversations, the self-satisfied blonde from Beacon Hills strides in. She notices Derek instantly. Lips curling, she crosses the classroom to take a turn toward the back of the room, sashaying past him as closely as possible. She takes a seat a couple rows behind, in the back row.

Derek grinds his jaw and focuses on arranging his books. He can only imagine what Stiles has told her, and the great laugh they all had about it after he’d stormed off the quad. It still elicits a cringe to think about, but it’s not like he could just stand there and make nice after what he’d heard, and the only alternative was a screaming match with his (definitely) ex-boyfriend in front of half the school. It’s the first day. If his mom’s getting a call, it’s sure as hell going to be about Cora.

He can feel her presence behind him, not sure if she’ll be staring when he turns or if he’s just imagining it. The whispered _‘Hey’_ is decidedly not imagined, though, and Derek faces front, exchanging genial head-nods with people he actually knows. Thankfully, Sra. Calavera enters before his resolve weakens, and a hush forms over the room when she stands silently in front of her students.

Yeah, seems like the new people are getting the hint.

They start off with some exercises, which aren’t too bracing and don’t call upon any one student. Of course, it can only last so long until they’re ordered to pair up - one Devenford student with a Beacon Hills counterpart. Derek knows it’s about to happen before it actually does, but he still lets out a sigh when Erica plonks down next to him with a grin.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she says, in direct opposition of the activity in which they’re supposed to be involved. There’s a coy tilt to her head when she smiles. “I’m Erica.”

He stares at the outstretched hand in front of him and frowns. Sra. Calaveras is walking by, so he replies in Spanish. _“I’m Derek, but you already know my name.”_

Erica gets a giddy glint in her eye at his switch in language. “Si,” she nods, “ _but it’s only polite to introduce ourselves._ ”

“ _Etiquette is important to you, yes?_ ” he asks, unconvinced. “ _Then maybe you won’t bring up what happened the last time you saw me._ ”

Erica throws in a pout. “You’re no fun,” she groans in English, carefully timed to when the teacher is out of earshot. “I just wanted to be sure I have my facts straight for all the people asking what’s happening between you and Stiles.”

“Nothing _,_ ” Derek grits out. “Nothing is happening between Stiles and me--”

“ _Derek Hale!_ ”

He stiffens at the address. Erica’s brows rise innocently and she bites back a laugh.

“Lo siento, Senora Calavera,” he grumbles, working his jaw at Erica’s laugh. When Sra. Calavera moves on, he shakes his head and focuses over Erica’s shoulder.

“ _Hmm, you’re definitely the guy he spent the summer with,_ ” Erica states with a teasing lilt, like somehow her suspicions have been confirmed during their short exchange. _“Stiles disappeared before we could get an answer.”_

Derek stretches his legs out with nervous tension, considering letting her ramble on until the exercise is complete. She picks up his pen and starts doodling on the edge of his notepad, glancing between his expression and the page.

“ _That’s not normal for Stiles - usually he’s very open about who he spends his time with. He’s open about everything he does that he probably shouldn’t be doing.”_

Curiosity gets the better of him and he flicks his eyes back to her. It’s barely a second, but she sees it.

“ _I’m sure you understand by now that he’s had his fair share of...”_ her brows crease, searching for the word, but she gives up and reverts to English, “conquests?”

“ _That’s not my business,_ ” he tells himself as much as he tells her, though there’s a part of him that’s wondering how he thought he fell for someone he knew so little about. Stiles was roguish, sure, and at times beguiling. He had an air of mystery and danger about him to the unacquainted, and Derek... fuck, he _liked_ it. But callous? The unfeeling fraud Derek found wearing Stiles’ face this morning? Never in a million years.

She scrutinizes him. “ _Anyone would think this is new information for you.”_

Derek takes the pen out of her hand to cease the annoying sound of the nib swirling on the paper. “He was different.”

Whether Erica stills over the use of English or the statement, Derek isn’t sure. Training his eyes on the page, he gulps. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

When he looks up, Erica’s face is oddly open. Her eyes dart over his expression, and it’s enough to warrant a nod and a quiet, “Sure. I - Sure.”

There’s a span of extremely awkward silence, and then in Spanish, “ _At least you had a good summer._ ”

Derek gives her a baleful look, and she shrugs.

“ _Not everyone can spend time in luxury. For example, someone could have to earn a terrible wage at an ice cream shop. Next to a construction site that doesn’t have a single attractive worker.”_

“ _Is that supposed to make me feel better?_ ” he asks, throwing her a jaded look.

“ _It certainly didn’t make me feel good,_ ” she grumbles. “Do you know how many innuendos can be made out of ‘scoops’ and ‘breasts? Four. And I know all of them intimately.”

Despite himself, Derek finds himself fighting back a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You look sorry.”

“ _The activity is over,_ ” Sra. Calavera announces, and Derek’s surprised to note that he’s not completely weighed down with relief by it.

The class passes slowly, as he lets Erica’s words resonate while only partially paying attention to his work. It’s all mostly an introduction to the course anyway, and a chance for their teacher to evaluate everyone’s learning level, given that she has a bunch of new students with which she’s had no previous contact.

It’s a unique situation for everyone to suddenly share space with people they’ve never known, still in their own high school. Derek likes to think he doesn’t make assumptions about people, regardless of the society he was brought up in, but it’s hard sometimes not to let it happen. Erica presents as a vampish rebel, more concerned with her own image than anything else - but she’d held a detailed, eloquent conversation in AP Spanish with little difficulty, and even dropped her line of questioning in sympathy for his feelings.

Does he project his own ideas of people on to them? Maybe he did that with Stiles somehow - saw qualities in him that Stiles himself never really had.

When the class breaks, he packs up slowly, lost to his own introspection.

“You don’t want to leave?” Erica’s voice breaks his train of thought and he blinks at her. She’s standing a few strides ahead, half-turned and watching curiously. Derek shakes his head, casting his eyes down to his bag as he zips it up.

“Thinking,” he says before shouldering the backpack. He walks toward her, mainly because it’s the direction he’s supposed to go, but when she’s close, he opens his mouth.

“What did you mean?” he asks. It’s not really an intentional thing. His mind is singularly focused on the onslaught of emotions the day gave him. He turns to see her unsure look. “About Stiles, and--”

“How his favorite subject is himself?” she snorts. At Derek’s look, she raises a brow and saunters ahead when he lets her through the door in front of him. “Okay, that’s unfair, but I can’t think of a single school-wide rumor since sophomore year that didn’t have him involved, and he doesn’t exactly refute them. Unless the truth is juicier or he’s threatened by the rumor - then he’ll come clean.”

“What exactly has he done?” Derek asks, wishing he wasn’t so invested.

“There was the time he broke into one of our teacher’s cars every day for a week and parked it in a different spot,” she starts, “Mr. Harris had no proof, but everyone knew who it was. Or when he convinced an entire detention class to stand on the desks and do the dance from The Breakfast Club. Hmm, when he got suspended for doing something scandalous in the sports equipment closet with Danny, but reports are conflicting as to what that actually was, and Stiles found it too funny to clear up...”

Derek swallows, regretting that he ever asked.

“Oh, and apparently he beat the crap out of someone when he was a junior for denting his piece of crap Jeep, but I heard he just shoved the guy up against it and threatened to. Things get over-exaggerated.” She holds out a hand. “I once heard he had an entire frat house from BHU out to get him for sleeping with half their linked sorority... but Stiles came clean that he’d actually just had sex with one of the frat brothers and the guy didn’t want anybody to know he’d been seduced by a high school kid.” A shrug. “Stiles is a never-ending source of entertainment, but there’s usually a grain of truth to everything. He has no shame.”

Derek walks beside her in pensive silence. He’s not sure if he believes all of it, or if it’s just that he doesn’t _want_ to. This version of Stiles - the promiscuous, rule-breaking stereotype has very little in common with the one from just weeks ago. Stiles didn’t like to play by the rules, sure, but he was also less than forthcoming with information about himself. It made all the moments that he did open up all the more precious.

 

> Stiles groaned, tilting his head back against the frame of the door. “I’m so sick of this one. Change it.”
> 
> “I like this song.”
> 
> Derek looked blissfully content, tilting his face to the light like he was drawing sustenance from it. Stiles could never really tell what color his eyes were supposed to be, but looking at them did strange little thrills to his insides. Derek was, simply put, stunning. His strong chest and shoulders made Stiles ache to touch him all the time, yet the delicate parts of him - behind his ear, the shadow under his lip, his stubby toes - invited soft caresses and lingering kisses that were a new urge entirely. Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with those, so he leaned away, stretching his legs out in the space between.
> 
> “You _would._ ”
> 
> He dug his toes into the meat of Derek’s thigh, where his legs tipped over the edge of the jeep’s rear bumper. His swim trunks were slowly drying off, but not quickly enough. They were cool to the touch, and Stiles hissed.
> 
> “This is what happens when we’re forced to listen to chart radio,” Derek grinned, reaching down to squeeze his foot. Stiles’ skin was still moist from the water, and the soles of his feet steadfastly held on to the sand despite his furious efforts to get rid of it.
> 
> “My CD player’s busted. I’m waiting for parts so I can fix it.”
> 
> “I don’t think I’ve even seen a CD in over a decade.”
> 
> “Yeah, my Jeep is old as shit, I get it,” Stiles grunted. “It’s an heirloom.”
> 
> “From whom, a family member who hated you?”
> 
> Stiles’ grin faltered, and Derek instantly berated himself for speaking so carelessly. “I didn’t--”
> 
> “It’s fine. She spent half her time cursing this thing for never running properly, but I wouldn’t let my dad part with it after she - yeah.”
> 
> Derek closed his eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”
> 
> “Hey, if there’s one person who should be able to take what they dish out, it’s me. Verbal vomit is kind of my thing.”
> 
> Derek gulped past the guilt, wishing he could rewind the moment. He knew all too well what it was like to be attached to something because of its ties to someone else. He couldn’t imagine how he would have reacted if he’d ever been made fun of for it.
> 
> “It’s kind of stupid that I hold on to it anyway,” Stiles mused. He fluffed at his hair and pulled back on his baseball cap, turning it backwards and down until the band was over his eyes. Derek reached out to pull it up and shook his head with vehemence.
> 
> “Not at all,” he said, looking at him intently, Stiles licked his lips, mouth going dry at how sincere Derek was being, and how raw it made him feel. “You’re looking at someone who straight-up cried when we had to give my dad’s dog away.”
> 
> Stiles’ forehead creased, heart lurching. “What happened?”
> 
> “My stepdad’s allergic,” Derek shrugged bitterly. “Said he couldn’t live with an animal. We’d had Ruby for ten years - she was more a part of the family than he was at that point.”
> 
> Stiles leaned forward and covered Derek’s hand with his. “That sucks.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Derek agreed, flicking his eyes up to meet Stiles’,” It really does.”
> 
> The sunset bathed half his face in a warm glow, and Derek found his breath coming short when he let himself look freely. Something about Stiles made him feel like he was breaking down a barrier; that he needed to earn the right of familiarity - but Stiles tilted his lips up in a smile, and Derek couldn’t stop staring.

Seeing Boyd acknowledge him up ahead, Derek turns to Erica. “Listen, um, thanks for...”

“You know you’re more talkative in Spanish, right?”

He hadn’t realized, but she may have a point. His lips jerk. “Don’t tell anyone.”

She places her hand over her heart, eyes ahead. “I swear - but only if you introduce me to your friend.”

Derek raises a brow. “Boyd?” he asks, and Erica’s face goes thoughtful. “We’re on the lacrosse team together.”

She pulls a face. “Eugh, nevermind.”

“What’s wrong with the lacrosse team?”

“Only someone _on_ the lacrosse team would ask that.” She looks toward Boyd sadly. “Shame, he has such great arms.” As Boyd gets closer, she shakes her head and tuts before walking away without so much as a goodbye.

Derek stares after her in confusion.

“You’re friends with Erica Reyes now?” Boyd asks, watching her slink off, letting the crowds part in front of her so she can treat the hallway like a catwalk.

“You know her?” Derek queries and Boyd nods. “Funny, she didn’t seem to know you.”

“Probably doesn’t remember,” Boyd says thoughtfully, then turns to face him fully. “Anyway, you decided what you wanna do in the offseason? Heard cross-country starts next week. Or we could do soccer - keep us on a field.”

Derek swallows guiltily. “I haven’t really thought about it much.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Boyd taps his stomach with a fist. “Gettin’ a little soft there, Hale?”

“Fine,” Derek grumbles, nudging him back by a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll join the swim team again. Coach said it improved my endurance last year.” He swallows. "I - I spent a lot of time in the water this summer."

“Whatever,” Boyd shrugs, “As long as I don’t have to listen to half the school sighing over your damn speedo.”

“It’s required attire.”

“Yeah, sure. You know soccer players get to wear the little shorts, right? You’ll get just as many dreamy looks from those. Whittemore seems to, anyway.”

Derek’s ears color; Paige had said the same thing after his first swim meet. The attention makes him uncomfortable, and it was never something he asked for.

“Shut up.”

Boyd snorts, flicking at his ear. “You’re too easy.”

* * *

“What’s this I hear about you breaking some lacrosse player’s heart?”

Stiles chews the end of his mouthful as Scott slumps into the bench opposite. He’d sort of suspected that there’d be talk by now, but the disappointed frown on Scott’s face makes him feel bad for not keeping him in the loop. This past one was the first summer since he could remember that they hadn’t spent together; Scott’s mom being less subtle about how bad an influence she thinks Stiles is on her kid, and packing him off downstate to spend time with his dad. Scott’s parents pretty much loathe each other, so the fact that Melissa voluntarily went out of her way to make contact with her ex-husband speaks volumes.

And not good ones.

“I told you I met someone while you were gone.”

Scott gives him a disbelieving look. “You’re _always_ meeting people. I’ve learned to dismiss it unless you mention them more than twice, or it’s somehow going to get you in trouble.” He snakes a hand out and grabs a potato chip. “Who’s Derek Hale?”

“A big deal, apparently,” Stiles grouses, avoiding eye contact. All he’s gleaned from a morning of vague questions is Derek’s scoring record with the lacrosse team, the fact that he Does Not Date within the student body (not for lack of options) and his family practically owns the school. Stiles had almost wanted to laugh at the idea that _Derek_ is some kind of legend around the place. The guy had blushed the first time he tried to ask Stiles out.

But it’s better if he doesn’t actively think of those things.

There’s a cute-ass Asian girl a few tables down, sitting alone, who’s keeping a curious watch on their table.

“And?”

“And we hung out over the summer. Made out under the stars, got friendly down in the sand...” he waves a hand out, turning his expression into a leer. “Think of all the classic cliches, we did ‘em.”

“I’ve never done it on a beach,” Scott muses, crunching. “I heard it’s hard to get sand out of places.”

Stiles’ mouth goes dry. “That wasn’t - it wasn’t like that,” he croaks. There are plenty of good memories rattling around in his head from the summer, but to his surprise, just as many of them are G-rated as they are PG-13 or more.

“Like what?” Scott frowns, then tilts his head. “Wait... are you telling me you spent the entire summer with this guy and you never...”

Stiles looks up, shrugs uncomfortably. Even though it’s just Scott, it feels wrong to talk about this, especially in the middle of the crowded quad with so many people around them.

“Whoa. No wonder you didn’t tell me about him.”

“Shut up,” he snorts. “It was... he wanted to take it slow, and I respect that.”

“You respected _him,_ you mean. He must be special - usually when there’s no chance of getting any you peace-out.”

“You make me sound like a sex-crazed dick.”

“You _are_ a sex-crazed dick.”

Stiles grins. “Yeah, but it works for me.”

Scott kicks him under the table, seeing through the bullshit. Stiles gives up on the pretense and turns the bag of chips to face him, leaning back on the bench to soak up the rays. The girl is still looking over curiously, like she’s shy about getting caught, and it’s tempting. Something straightforward where he knows where he stands and can have a little fun, rather than the crushing pang of conscience that’s been weighing him down.

“Talked to Allison?”

Scott deflates a little. “She’s still really distant. I don’t know, man, I’m starting to think the Let’s Be Friends line was just that - a line.”

“There isn’t a whole lot you can do if she doesn’t want to be around you, bro,” Stiles says gently. “You know that.”

“Yeah. it just sucks, you know? I mean, I never meant to drive her away, and I thought we ended things really maturely, but it’s like the summer changed all that.”

“Do you think she met someone else?”

Scott’s face goes pained. “I don’t know. If she did, I’d - I’d be okay with it. I just wanna have her in my life still. And make sure the guy isn’t a dick. He should deserve her.”

Stiles aches a little bit for his friend. He feels a least partly responsible for their break-up, but Scott’s never once blamed him, and that almost makes it worse. It’s one thing to fuck things up for himself, but Scott too? Not cool.

“So, what happens now?” Scott asks, breaking into his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you gonna try make it up to this guy? Your face is doing that thing where you’re feeling guilty, but it’s like a foreign concept to you.”

“My face does _not_ show all that.”

“I does to me,” Scott smiles earnestly, lifting a shoulder.

Stiles huffs, flicking chip crumbs off the wood. It feels like he and Derek were different people a few weeks ago - Stiles got to be the misunderstood outcast with nothing to lose and a pretty boy on his arm, and Derek was this shy, reserved, gorgeous rich-kid who seemed to like being led astray a little... not high school royalty with a whole future and a legacy and all those good things. He’d known Derek’s name, only from the other staff mentioning it in passing - but Stiles didn’t realize he was _local -_ or at least, that he’d ever see him again. It casts a whole new light on things, but the decision he made to break ties makes more sense than ever.

“Nothing happens now,” Stiles decides. “I’m me and he’s him, it might have made sense for a few weeks, but it’s not realistic.”

“But don’t you think it means something that you both ended up at the same school?”

Stiles laughs bitterly. “No, it means a series of unfortunate decisions led me here, and I gotta make the best of it.” He jerks his jaw and winks at the girl still watching them, and she dips her head as Scott turns around, shielding her face with her hair. Scott gives him a searching look, and Stiles grins. “Which is exactly what I intend to do.”

* * *

“Derek Hale?”

“Here.”

The pretty brunette on his left who’d responded to _Allison Argent_ turns at his reply, raking her eyes over him in consideration. As Ms Winwood continues to take attendance, the girl looks away, pensive.

There are lot of new names being called out, and a paranoid part of Derek listens out for one in particular, half-expecting him to be tucked away in an unseen part of the room where Derek’s covert surveying hasn’t yet reached. He’s managed to avoid Stiles entirely all day, right up until his homeroom period following lunch. He decides it’s a good thing, since he’s not sure what the outcome would be or even how he’d react to it. Stiles might try to talk to him - or worse, ignore him entirely, and the prospect of both is too hard to bear.

When attendance is taken - thankfully without a certain name - Derek digs out his stuff and puts it on the desk, but a pen rolls off and under the next one. The girl offers it back with a smile, and he returns it, trying to muster up some concentration.

“Hey,” the girl says after an extended moment. Derek glances at her. “Derek?” He nods hesitantly. “I’m Allison, I’m friends with Lydia...”

“Oh,” he grunts, feeling a pinch of shame. “Nice, uh... nice to meet you.”

He braces himself for the discomfort of yet another person knowing his business. It’s the first _day -_ it’s probably going to be over in a week. He hopes.

“I just wanna say,” she says, and her face looks apologetic, “I’m sorry for what happened. Stiles can be a real piece of work.”

Derek looks down at the blank page in front of him. He’s supposed to be getting a head start on his homework right now so he can go see the swim coach, but he suddenly doesn’t feel like it anymore. Her concern is nice, but at the same time it’s not really any of her business. He’s already sick of hearing about this, and it’s only been a few hours.

“So I’ve heard,” he mutters. They’re far enough toward the back of the room that their conversation isn’t within earshot of the teacher, so Derek can’t even pretend that he’d rather not hear.

“He wasn’t always,” she adds.

She faces forward, and at first Derek thinks it’s so she can keep an eye on the teacher and make sure they aren’t caught being disruptive, but her eyes seem to be drawn to a different part of the room. A dark haired guy with tan skin is very obviously listening to music, drawing on the back of his notebook. He glances back at Allison, but she turns away just in time, facing Derek again.

“Did Lydia tell you she and Stiles used to date?” Allison asks, and all Derek can do is shake his head.

 _More_ people Stiles has been involved with? He hates himself a little for being intrigued. She sighs like she’s unsure whether to elaborate, but after a beat, she does.

“It was in junior high, right before his mom got sick. Lydia never went into details, but she’s always said after she died that he... changed. A lot. Stopped caring about a lot of things.” She glances forward at the guy sitting a few rows up. “It’d be understandable, if he didn’t drag other people down with him.”

Derek follows her gaze, considering the guy once more. He’s surmised by now that this could very well be Scott - a character in countless of Stiles’ childhood stories, and someone Stiles himself named his ‘partner in crime.’

He clenches his teeth as the pieces slot together, feeling guilty for being angry - but it doesn’t take away the sense of betrayal. Seems like the Stiles he met was only one half of the whole, and he feels like an idiot for believing that he could really know someone after such a short time. Just because his mom and dad fell for each other over the course of a semester, doesn’t mean it’d happen that way for everyone. Definitely not for Derek.

But then, maybe the signs were there all along.

 

> Derek pushed his sunglasses up to do a double-take. The guy from yesterday was wiping down one of the poolside tables half-heartedly, scratching at the back of his head. His shoulders rolled under the fitted polo shirt he wore, highlighting each dip and ridge in the fading sun. Even from far away, Derek could see the faint glow of sunburn through his short buzzcut, irritating his skin.
> 
> “Should get a hat,” he said stupidly, and the guy turned with a scowl. Really? This was the flirting technique he’d developed? No wonder he’d been single since Braeden left.
> 
> “Against dress code,” the guy retorted, embarrassed, turning away to straighten a chair. “Maybe I’ll grow it out.”
> 
> Derek swallowed. How exactly did you go about telling someone you thought they were interesting and cool and sexy but _not_ sound like a creepy virgin?
> 
> “I just uh, wanted to say thanks. For yesterday. That was cool of you.”
> 
> The guy shrugged, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye, “I don’t like dicks.” There’s a smirk, and then, “Well, not the person-kind. The other kind, though...”
> 
> Derek couldn’t help but frown, feeling like he was missing something, but that only seemed to make the guy’s smile wider. He had a great smile. It made his eyes sparkle and these little furrows appear in his cheeks that weren’t quite dimples, but hinted at them... like they had been once, when he was a little kid with chubby cheeks and a smart mouth and that impish tilt to his nose.
> 
> Oh. And he liked - _Oh._
> 
> “What I mean is,” the guy continued, his voice still shaking with a laugh. “You’re welcome. You can go wax your Porsche now.”
> 
> “It’s a Camaro, actually,” Derek corrected, watching the start of an eye-roll before the guy seemed to realize Derek was fucking with him right back.
> 
> “My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend.”
> 
> “You didn’t, but I was wondering...” Derek took a breath. Screw it - the worst he could say is ‘no’ and Derek had been checking him out for over a week. “Do you - Would you let me take you out? As a proper thank you.”
> 
> There was a long look of consideration in return. The guy straightened up, rag still on the table, and tilted his head.
> 
> “You seem awfully grateful.”
> 
> “Maybe I take an opportunity when I see one,” Derek replied, bolstered by the flirtatious tone.
> 
> The smile was back, and this time Derek mirrored it. He hoped his was half as distracting.
> 
> “I’m... kind of not supposed to be going out.” At the jerk or Derek’s eyebrows, he inputs, “Long story. But... a few of us like to hang out here at night. Smoke up a little. Have a couple drinks. Interested?”
> 
> Derek felt the hope go out of his shoulders. There was no way he could get away with that. And if he got caught...
> 
> “I... can’t. Sorry.”
> 
> The guy nodded like he’d expected the answer, and turned dismissively, reaching for the rag again. “Your loss, dude.”
> 
> “Derek,” he corrected, hoping that if nothing else, they could talk more. Get to know one another. “Derek Hale.”
> 
> A snort. “I know.”
> 
> Derek smirked at the ground, feeling like he’d lost control of the situation a long time ago, but he was strangely happy with it. “And you are?”
> 
> “Out of your league, Richie Rich.”

 


	3. Wonder What He's Doing Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles tries to sink back into his old ways and Derek is the worst-best stepbrother ever. Also, Lydia has no time for anyone's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little earlier today since I won't have time to post later. 
> 
> Thank you, once again, to loveandallthat7!!

 

Stiles sidles up as she’s putting away her things after the bell.

“Kira, right?” he asks, painting on the same lopsided smile that a girl once told him compellingly made her want to drop her panties. “You’re the new transfer?”

The girl blinks at him. She’s got gorgeous, expressive eyes and the kind of soft skin that blushes easily. Stiles hasn’t been with a girl in a while, and Kira might be just what he needs. Cute, sweet, his own age and someone with no prior knowledge of his exploits.

She nods. “Yeah, my dad just took a teaching job at the university. Kind of a last-minute thing.”

“Professor, huh? That must mean intelligence runs in the family.”

“Think so?” she asks, glancing back up at him.

“Well, only the best of the best take AP Physics.”

She bites her lip. It’s cute. “Nice how you complimented both of us right then.”

He grins - she _is_ smart. He can definitely work with this; a pretty face is only fun for the first hook-up.“You noticed that, huh?”

“Yeah, really clever.” She shimmies out from her seat and turns. “So, what do they call you?”

“Stiles,” he offers. “And no, it’s not on my driver’s license, but only the traffic cops and a select few know the truth.”

She raises a brow, playing along. “So who are these select few?”

“My dad, mainly. And my best friend, Scott.”

She seems to straighten up a little. “Scott? Is that - Was he the guy you were with the other day? On the quad?”

Stiles watches her reaction, realizing instantly that he’s fighting a losing battle. Shame - she really is adorable.

“Yeah, you saw us?” he asks innocently. She’d been sneaking looks the entire time they were talking, but Stiles just hadn’t realised at _whom._ Girls at BHHS knew Scott was off-limits, because Allison Argent was not above glaring them into submission. With their breakup, a whole world was about to open for Scott that Stiles was positive he wouldn’t be ready for.

Her eyes widen. “I wasn’t, like _spying_ or anything, I just...”

“You’re hot for Scott?” Stiles accuses, narrowing his eyes teasingly.

She clutches at his arm, laughing nervously, and glances around like somehow Scott will magically appear out of the corner of the room to make fun of her. “Oh my god, shut up!”

Stiles snickers, shrugging. “I’m sorry - bro code says I have to tell him.”

“ _Stiles!_ ” she pleads, and he dissolves into a laugh at her awkwardness, sobering only to catch sight of a figure through the doorway, walking slowly past in a group with his stepbrother.

Derek looks indifferent, and that, more than anything else, feels like a kick to the stomach. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, before Derek’s flick to Kira and back, turning fully away to face forward. It sounds like such a cliche, but time slows down for those few moments, and Stiles feels everything from excitement to guilt to disgusting, heart-sore _longing_ pooling right in the darkest pit of his stomach, turning his insides over.

He looks so good. Stiles had noticed Derek is athletic and supremely-built, but it’s different seeing him go from dressed-down basketball shorts and swim trunks to his wealthy, tailored self. His hair hasn’t been cut since the summer, and it’s falling back in dark waves, making him look every inch the devastating heartthrob his reputation suggests. Stiles lurches forward a step, just as Derek disappears from view, and he feels the air leave his lungs. It’s just as forceful and harsh as that last time on the quad.

He knows he hurt Derek. He never intended to, but that’s just what Stiles does. He lets people down eventually, and they end up hating him. He’d thought that maybe it was for the best, leaving his job at the country club without saying anything. That way, Stiles would have just been a good memory. Someone Derek would think about and smile, a few years down the line, and he’d get to do the same. Reality always creeps back in, in the end.

“Stiles?” Kira is saying, and he blinks back at her.

“Hm?”

“I asked if Scott’s seeing anyone?” She looks between Stiles and the doorway with interest, but doesn’t comment on what it was that captured his attention mid-conversation.

“Oh, uh... no. Not anymore. He’s free as a well-endowed bird.”

Kira wrinkles her nose. “Please tell me those are your words, not his.”

He can’t even muster up a laugh for her, mind still playing Derek on a loop. “Definitely mine.” Swallowing, Stiles turns back and faces her properly. “Scotty’s a gentleman. But... he did just get out of a major relationship. Well, _three months ago._ I’ll see if I can figure out whether he’s open to dating.”

“You’d do that?” she says, her brows creasing.

“Good old Beacon Hills hospitality,” he claims, falling into step with Kira as she approaches the door. He’ll definitely stop feeling so guilty around Scott if he gets him laid again.

She beams. “That’s so sweet.”

“I’m a sweet guy, ask anyone.”

“Stiles?” Mrs Martin’s voice cuts in. Stiles had honestly forgotten she was still there, sitting at her desk. “May I have a word?”

Stiles frowns. He can’t possibly have done something to warrant a talking-to - it’s the first week. He waves goodbye to Kira and turns.

“Natalie, how may I be of service?”

Lydia’s mother gives him a scarily-familiar unimpressed look. “It’s Mrs Martin, since I’m your teacher and you’re no longer my daughter’s boyfriend. We’ve been over this.”

“That hurts,” he says, just to be obnoxious. His mood is plummeting with each guilty pound of his heart spurred on by the look on Derek’s face. Strangely enough, he and Mrs Martin had actually gotten along pretty well for a time, but then, Lydia has a lot of opinions about Stiles these days, which her mom is probably aware of.

“I don’t care,” Mrs Martin says with a fixed smile. She opens her desk drawer and retrieves a brochure. “I wanted to give you this.”

Stiles frowns down at it. It has some weenie making heart-eyes to a robot, and the words _Pacific Northwest Engineers of the Future_ emblazoned across the front. He blinks up at her.

“Am I being punished somehow?”

Natalie sighs. “No, Stiles, you’re not being punished. Teachers are encouraged to bring this to the attention of any student they might think has the potential to really have a shot at this. Once upon a time, I seem to remember you being pretty great at dismantling stuff, or harvesting parts and building something new. Not to mention you're in this class despite barely turning in an effort.”

Stiles swallows, dropping the brochure on to her desk. “Uh, no thanks. I grew out of that once I realised that a machine was keeping my mom alive, and wasn’t doing a very good job of it.”

He backs away from the desk, irritated and feeling like his privacy’s been invaded.

“You’re the only student I can think of who could really make a run at this,” she says sadly. “Just consider it - the prize is a partial scholarship to CalTech.”

“I’m not going to college.”

She lets out a breath. “Fine, it’s your decision - but the deadline is March, if you change your mind, please - come see me.”

“Can’t see that happening, but thanks all the same, Natalie.”

“Mrs. _Martin._ ”

“Right,” he salutes, backing out of the door.

He walks into a group of other seniors when he gets out, and he’s so jarred by everything from the past few minutes, he actually apologizes. This was supposed to be the last year before freedom - when he was no longer his dad’s responsibility and he could do what he wanted, but instead it feels like the pressure is piling on from every direction, and he’s starting to feel the weight of it.

And the guilt - the guilt is the worst, whether it’s about not living up to his potential or letting people he cares about down. If people would just stop expecting so much from him, then he wouldn’t feel so shitty all the time.

* * *

The shouting is so loud that Derek can actually hear it through his headphones. Deeper, baritone rumbles followed by hesitant replies, and he slips his eyes shut, breathing through the initial spark of anger that courses through him. There’s a thump, like a fist being hit against the wall and Derek’s out of his chair and at the door in an instant, throwing it open.

Isaac is turned away from his father, eyes trained submissively on the ground, and even from five feet away, Derek can tell he’s shaking.

“Ah, Derek,” Richard says unctuously, lowering his hand from the drywall. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes; it never does. “Maybe you can explain to Isaac why it’s ridiculous that he hasn’t enrolled in any extracurricular activities yet, because I don’t speak idiot.”

Isaac winces, and Derek struggles to not reach out to him. He’s only really known Isaac for a couple of years, but the brotherly bond they’d formed makes him feel more like a friend than a step-sibling.

Their parents had started dating a few months before they were introduced, and Derek had expected a younger version of Richard The Dick: over-confident, faux-friendly with an air of constant silent judgement. What he got instead was Isaac. The kid seemed submissive and shy at first, but Derek soon learned that the Isaac he’d initially met became a different guy when he wasn’t around his dad - quick-witted, sarcastic and cynical. A lot of Derek’s favorite traits.

“It’s just the first week of school, sir,” Derek points out. “Most of the clubs haven’t even started recruiting yet, because of the merger.”

“Yet your mother tells me that you’ve already joined the swim team.”

Derek shuffles his feet guiltily, “I’ve signed up - pre-season training doesn’t start until next week for the varsity team.” He glances at his stepbrother. “Isaac was actually thinking about signing up too,” he adds, “He probably wanted to wait until he had a spot before saying anything.”

Richard reaches out and turns Isaac around. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks impatiently. When Isaac just stares back, he demands. “You’re just gonna stand there mute all your life?”

Isaac makes to speak, but he clears his throat first and lifts his jaw. “Like Derek said, I wanted to be sure. I’m going up against seniors, so there’s no guarantee. No need to waste your time.”

It doesn’t look like Richard fully believes them, so Derek makes a mental note to talk to coach about it. It’d definitely make Isaac’s life a lot easier if he was a part of something - plus he’d have time away from home and his dad.

“Actually, Derek, weren’t you gonna find me your training schedule from last year?” Isaac adds, sending him an imploring look.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” He jerks a thumb into his room. “Come help me look?”

Richard watches them coolly as they disappear inside and they wait for his footsteps to lead down the stairs before talking.

“The fucking _swim team?_ ” Isaac hisses. “You couldn’t have come up with something a little easier? You know he was nationally ranked, right? And Cam was on two championship teams.”

Derek hadn’t, but Derek had also been beaten in friendly races by Isaac over the summer, and he’d panicked in the moment. It seems like Isaac’s default is to compare himself with his brother; Camden had been killed in action while on his second tour in Afghanistan, and when Richard was feeling particularly cruel, he always liked to remind Isaac how much he had to live up to. Camden was supposed to take over the family company after he was discharged, apparently had a drive and analytical mind that Isaac lacked, and of the two brothers, Richard definitely made it clear which one was the favorite. Derek never got to meet Camden, but his shadow hung over the Laheys even years after his death.

“Hey,” Derek soothes, “You’ve got great form. You’re fast, too. Maybe it’s genetic? I don’t know why you didn’t consider going in for it yourself.”

“Because it’s yet one more thing for him to obsess about and demand perfection,” his stepbrother says, slumping on to the end of Derek’s bed. He’s facing the shelf holding his trophies that Derek made as a spring break project two years ago, and he’s never felt guilty about them, or displaying them, until this moment.

“You seem to automatically assume you’ll be shitty at it.”

Isaac throws him a flat look and lets himself fall back on the bedding. “School's kinda wild these days, with all the new people, huh?”

Derek blinks at the change in subject and retakes his chair. He braces himself for the too-familiar conversation about Stiles; he knows Isaac’s aware of what happened, but he’s yet to bring it up.

“Yeah...” Derek says leadingly. “Something on your mind?”

“There’s this girl.”

The relief Derek feels should not be as strong as it is, and he smiles widely. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s a junior too, from Beacon Hills High... but I heard she only usually dates older guys.”

Derek tilts his head thoughtfully. “Maybe when she was a sophomore - but she’s older now. Maybe she’s willing to date another junior.”

Isaac blinks at the ceiling. “Maybe. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“Not if you like her. What’s her name?”

“Heather. She’s sweet, but kind of intimidating. _So_ hot,” he sighs. Derek can’t help but grin. It’s a big thing for Isaac to admit to liking someone, nevermind _talk_ about them.

“Maybe she’s got a thing for swimmers.”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Isaac snorts. “You still screwed me, and I’m not forgetting it.”

“Isaac,” Derek says seriously, and he lifts his head. “You’ll be good at this. I ate your bubbles enough times over the summer to believe that.”

“Please don’t say that ever again.”

Derek snorts just as his phone vibrates on his desk.

“It’s Paige,” he informs Isaac. “Was wondering where she’s been hiding.”

Isaac launches himself off the bed and straightens his shirt. “Tell her my guess this time is Schubert.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’ve been trying to guess this composer for months.”

“What am I supposed to do? Google ‘cello song that goes like-’” he makes a strange rolling noise with his throat that Derek supposes is meant to be whatever Paige was playing the day this game started. “I honestly can’t even remember if that’s what it sounded like.”

“Then how are you supposed to guess?”

“Right now I’m just naming people who sound European.”

Derek snorts and dials, bringing the phone to his ear when Isaac reaches the door. On Paige’s answer, he says, “Schubert?”

“Isaac’s really reaching now. No.”

Derek shakes his head and Isaac rolls his, throwing his hands up before clumsily exiting the room.

“He’s gonna keep trying. What’s up?”

“Remember when you were getting all uptight about your unbalanced college application?” she asks, clearly leading up to something.

“... Yeah, I didn’t think you were listening.”

“The drama club’s putting together a production this year. Thought it might be something to pad out your resume that doesn’t include grass or eating grilled chicken six days a week.”

Derek snorts. “I’m not in the drama club. Neither are you, for that matter.”

“No, but I’m in the orchestra, and we’re getting involved,” she says easily.

“Wait, orchestra? Does that mean--”

“It’s a musical, yeah, but before you shut me down, it’s a pretty cool concept. They’re doing a gender-swapped version of Grease. Plus, I know you can sing, so don’t even pretend that’s an issue.”

“When have you ever heard me sing?”

“Please, there’s never been an Ed Sheeran song you met and didn’t like.”

Derek flushes. “Mouthing along with the radio is a little different than standing on a stage with lights and everyone looking at you.”

“Yet you do it on a lacrosse field for three months out of the year.”

“Really not the same.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, here. Also, I think you’d like it, and you’re always bitching that we never get to spend time together anymore.”

Derek sighs. She’s right - Paige is his oldest friend, and at one point he thought they were perfect for one another, until she told him otherwise. It’s good - if they’d ever actually dated, they might not still talk regularly.

“I’ll think about it, but only because it’s you asking,” he smirks. “How was band camp?”

“Stop calling it band camp,” she growls. “And it was good, I think it helped a lot. How was _your_ summer?”

Derek narrows his eyes. “What have you heard? I thought you were above gossip.”

“I am, but it’s kind of hard to stay out of the loop when the subject of said gossip stumbled into my rehearsal space asking about you.”

Derek straightens up, “You talked to Stiles?”

“I didn’t know who he was at the time, but he was pretty interested to know why your family name was plastered everywhere.”

“What did he say?” Derek’s heart is pounding. After the other day, he’d been battling with the realization that Stiles was already moving on; Derek no more than a blip on his radar.

“Not much, but he did want to know if you having the same name was a coincidence. Seemed distracted.”

Derek thinks about it. If Stiles really didn’t care, then why was he asking perfect strangers about Derek? Why was he thinking about him at all, when he clearly had no shortage of other options?

“Probably doesn’t mean anything,” Derek grunts. “But thanks for telling me.”

“I’m not sure about the entire story, but your reaction tells me enough to know that you’re hoping it does mean something,” Paige surmises, “It’s your life - just remember that high school rumors get out of hand way too quickly. There’ve been enough about you and your family to prove that.”

“This is a little different than that.”

“Still,” she says. “Anyway, you’re coming to audition on Thursday?”

Derek sighs. “I said I’d think about it.”

“You’d have said no if you weren’t going to do it. Call me when you choose your song. Bye!”

The phone beeps to signal the end of the call. Derek stares down at it for a second before accepting the inevitable and opening up his calendar. He’s got some free time until lacrosse season starts anyway, and way too much time to overthink things.

* * *

“I don’t know, dude... she just like, told you she was into me?”

Scott sends him a disbelieving look as they enter the coffee shop. Stiles glances around, spying Danielle rearranging the pastries and a few other people from their own school dotted among the booths. The place would never be called fancy, but it’s become kind of a hangout, due to proximity to the BHHS campus and cheap coffee-and-donut deals. The furniture is all mismatched rescues, and the photography on the walls have been for sale as long as Stiles can remember. They’re probably suffering what with the closure, and Stiles feels kind of bad about it.

“Not, like, voluntarily, but it was pretty easy to figure out when I was trying to hit on her and all she could do was ask about you.”

They order their coffee and Stiles watches Danielle closely as she makes his; he’s not completely sure she’s above serving him a sneezer, and she’d hated him _before_ he dated her best friend.

Scott pensively adds cream and far too much sugar as Stiles waits - he’s always taken his black - before they claim the comfy seats out of the sun’s glare.

“I think it might be too soon. What if Allison finds out and she’s hurt?”

“Allison broke up with _you_ , dude. And you don’t have to propose to Kira, I just said I’d see if you were open to dating.”

“I’m sure she’s nice and all--”

“She rivals you only for eyes that belong on a cartoon puppy.”

Scott smirks. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about what? What would Allison be hurt about?”

Stiles slumps in his seat when Lydia’s head appears over the back of the booth. “Any chance you can pretend you haven’t seen us? It was better when you decided I was pond scum and wouldn’t acknowledge me.”

“That was for like a week, and you totally deserved it.”

“How can I get _that_ back?”

Scott turns hopefully, trying to sneak a look past Lydia to see who she’s with.

“You’re just deflecting because you know I’m hardcore judging you,” she shrugs.

“That’s nothing new. But can’t you hardcore judge me from a distance?”

Lydia’s lips curl. Her ability to call him out has only increased over the years. The instant she stopped coddling him after he lost his mom was the moment Stiles gained a conscience - a gorgeous, red-head _genius_ conscience who knew exactly which buttons to push. He _hates_ that he still loves her a little, despite it.

“Have you met my date, Jackson?” she asks. Another head appears behind her: classic pretty-boy with sculpted cheekbones, striking eyes, and a jaw plucked from a superhero comic. Perfect Lydia arm-candy. She grins. “He’s captain of the Prep’s lacrosse team. Happen to know any of his teammates, Stiles?”

Scott’s brows rise innocently and he becomes extremely interested in his coffee.

“Nice to meet you, dude. Get out while you still can.”

“ _You’re_ the guy Hale’s all bent out of shape over?” Jackson asks, glancing at Lydia. “Am I missing something?”

“Scratch what I just said,” Stiles decides. “You’re perfect for one another.”

“Stiles has NSA-level powers of persuasion and kisses like a Disney prince,” she informs him, somehow making it all sound insulting. “The poor guy wouldn’t know what he was getting himself into.”

> Stiles ground his hips down, smirking into Derek’s cheek at the tiny, broken gasp it elicited. These moments, when everything was silent save for their breathing and the knead of skin-over skin is when Stiles’ head went quiet. He could speak his secrets into Derek’s flesh without words, let all those silly little hopes disperse in the air like pollen on a warm breeze.
> 
> Derek’s throat jumped and Stiles placed a kiss there, raking a finger over the band of his shorts in an anticipatory tease. The muscles in that perfect stomach jerked, and Stiles grinned, kissing him again as he snaked his hand lower, squeezing the obvious hardness through the fabric.
> 
> Derek grunted. Stiles took it as encouragement, trailing his hands back up to the waistband and dipping inside, just far enough to be a signal.
> 
> Derek’s hand clamped over his wrist. “W-wait,” he breathed.
> 
> Stiles looked up in question. Derek’s eyes weren’t meeting his, instead blinking up at the roof of the car erratically, like gathering thoughts into words.
> 
> “Everything okay?” Stiles asked, holding his weight above him.
> 
> “I haven’t - This is the first...” Derek’s cheeks were burning, even in the low light, and Stiles could figure out the end of the sentence.
> 
> “You’re a virgin?”
> 
> Derek’s eyes snapped to his. “No. Well... There was a girl...”
> 
> Stiles sat back on his heels. This explained a lot. “You’ve never been with a guy before,” he deduced, swallowing. “Oh... Okay.”
> 
> “This isn’t--” Derek hurried to say. “I don’t want you to think I’m... experimenting, or whatever--”
> 
> “We’ve all experimented,” Stiles said with a grin he didn’t quite feel. “It’s cool.”
> 
> “No,” Derek said with vehemence. “I’m... I’m attracted to men. I’ve known for a while. My friends know, I’m pretty sure my family knows, I just haven’t--”
> 
> “Been with one.” Stiles felt the relief tingle through him. This - he could work with this.
> 
> “There just wasn’t really anyone I... felt that way about. I don’t... sex for me is a decision. I just thought you should know, in case that changes things.”
> 
> “I’ve been with a few. Girls too, if that’s - I guess we haven’t really talked about this.” He swallowed self-consciously, wondering if Derek would see him in a different light if he knew that some of the people Stiles had been with, he’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences.
> 
> “Yeah, I didn’t really know how to bring it up, and I guess I was nervous that you’d...”
> 
> “Judge you?” Stiles shook his head. “As long as you don’t judge me. I pretty much started seeing guys as soon as I really suspected. I wanted to be sure, and then I was.”
> 
> “That’s okay,” Derek nods. “I’m just not... experienced, I guess. And you seem like you’re--”
> 
> “Experience doesn’t mean much if there’s no chemistry.” Stiles adjusted himself pointedly, still hard, despite the gravity of the conversation. Derek followed the movement, still flushed and wet his lips reflexively. _God._ If anything, Derek being open about sex was turning him on _more._ The fact that he wanted Stiles to know everything - to know _him_ \- was one of the most attractive things he’d done.
> 
> “I want to - with you, but it’s gonna take a little patience,” Derek said, clearly fearing Stiles’ reaction. In response, Stiles kissed him, slow, sweet, just a gentle touch of lips together..
> 
> “We’re not doing anything you’re not ready for,” he said earnestly, letting his mouth curve in a smile at Derek’s hopeful expression. “Besides, I’m still no expert... There’s still a lot I haven’t tried yet - we can figure it out. ”

Stiles grinds his jaw. “Fuck you, Lyds. You don’t know what happened.”

“I know you got this guy to fall for you and then became a completely different person,” she says icily. “I have some experience with that.”

“Uh, guys?” Scott interjects. “How about we rehash this for the thousandth time somewhere else?”

“Doesn’t it piss you off that Allison broke up with you because she hated when you were around him?” Lydia asks Scott. Jackson’s face goes gleeful, and Stiles hates him already.

“My choices are my choices,” Scott argues. “I can’t blame other people for everything wrong in my life.”

Stiles almost wants to argue with him - but not in front of Lydia, and more than anything he’s afraid to change Scott’s mind. Who would he have then?

“Well maybe you should,” Lydia tells him. “Come on, Jackson, the company here sucks.”

Stiles stares down at the tabletop as they leave. He know she’s right, about everything, but what surprises him for once he has the desire for her to be wrong.

Stiles can handle what people say about him; it’s usually on his own terms and something he’s done at least slightly intentionally, but this...

Derek approached _him._ He didn’t ask Derek to fall for him, and he never promised that they’d be a forever thing. Why should that change just because they happen to be at the same school now? He’s never felt anything like the self-reproach that’s been pressing down on him since that first day on the quad; the look on Derek’s face, the crack in his voice, and the feeling that somehow, at some point, he’d put a breakable part of himself in Stiles’ hands for safekeeping, and Stiles had crushed it with one mistimed sentence.

He’d put it all behind him, write Derek off as one more disgruntled ex if it wasn’t for this feeling. The feeling of complete failure. That Stiles owes it to him to make things right, that each flash of their time together - Derek’s smile, his deadpan humor or the way he couldn’t talk about sex without turning a distracting shade of pink - has anchored itself deep inside him, to a part he’d been sure had died a while ago and Derek is the only one who knows how to access it.

That being with Derek is meant to be, like all his naive little ideas about love and fate, and Stiles would be the world’s biggest jackass not to do something about it.

Because he didn’t promise Derek forever - not in words - but it was there in the unsaid things anyway. In the way he felt he could be real around him, or that he wanted to be good for him, at least for a while. It’s not Derek’s fault he understood what Stiles didn’t realize he was saying, and it’s not his fault that Stiles is so fucking bad at being genuine and open when he has something to lose. That’s really why he hadn’t been able to say goodbye, if he’s honest - because acknowledging it would be admitting that Derek was _different_.

Here, it’s so much harder to be that raw and exposed. Everyone’s mind is made up and it’s too late to change that. Except... if Stiles could show Derek that better, worthy version of himself again- the one that’s more than _this_ Stiles, who’s fucked up and licentious and flawed - then maybe they’d find out if there’s a reason they’re in each other’s lives now.

He can try to do that - to make Derek see - because if he doesn’t, he’s failed already.

 


	4. My Head is Saying 'Fool, Forget Him...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek impresses the directors and Stiles impresses no-one. Also, Scott meets Kira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course when I decide Monday will be my posting day, I ALWAYS get scheduled for work. Ugh. Have it a little early! I wish loveandallthat7 could beta my brain-mouth filter, but alas, it's enough to make this fic legible. Thank you!

There’s a span of silence on the line, then Mom says, “Say that again?”

“I’m auditioning for the school musical.” Derek slouches a little lower in his seat. He doubts the kid beside him doing head-bops and hand gestures along with his earphones is all that interested, but the statement still makes him a little self-conscious. “So I might be a little late to dinner. Mom?”

“Yes, I’m here, I’m just a little - Where did this come from?”

“Paige’s idea. And we were talking about how my college application needed some rounding off...”

The magic word seems to work and she makes a noise of understanding. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she says encouragingly. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I could have helped with your preparation, maybe--”

“It’s fine,” he says, cutting her off. That’s the exact reason he _didn’t_ tell her, knowing from experience how hyper-involved she needs to be with everything. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it in case I changed my mind.”

“I see,” she hums. “And what’s the play?”

“It’s a version of Grease where they swapped the gender of all the characters.”

“That’s - that’s modern.”

Derek smirks. ‘ _Modern’_ is what she calls anything she doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t want to cause offense. In the summer, when he’d started opening her up to the idea of his own romantic preference for two genders, she’d decided it was ‘modern’ too.

“Sure is, Mom,” he replies, grinning now.

“I bet you’re going to get the lead part. You’ve always had such a beautiful voice.”

“When did everyone hear me sing?” he scowls, feeling paranoid.

“You’re a very musical person. All my children are, even Cora.”

“You know part of the reason Cora’s getting such a complex is because you always put an ‘even’ before her name? It singles her out.”

“I don’t mean anything by it,” Mom sighs, “Just that she’s a very independent young lady.”

“Maybe explain that to her. And stop mentioning her independence after one of Laura’s achievements.”

“I just don’t think she realizes her potential,” Mom says sadly. “She’s at that awkward age. Your father was always so much better with her than I am.”

“She’s fifteen, she’ll figure it out.” Derek looks up as a kid with a clipboard exists the auditorium along with a haunted-looking junior. His knee bounces nervously. “I think I’m up. I’ll see you later?”

“Oh, sure! Good luck! No.. break a leg!”

“Hopefully not. Lacrosse season starts in February.”

“You know what I mean. I love you,” she tells him, just as the clipboard kid calls out his name.

“What you got for us, Greenberg?” a booming voice asks. Derek grins in recognition, walking further into the room as Coach Finstock turns. There’s another teacher he’s seen around school sitting next to him with shoulder-length, auburn hair and a First Lady outfit, a strange contrast to the coach’s perpetual tracksuit.

“Hey, Coach.”

“Hale! You lost, kid?” he laughs, elbowing at the other teacher. She sends him a disapproving look and he clears his throat. “Good for you - train the soul as well as the body.”

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t know you were a part of this.”

“I’ve got the heart of an artist and the quads of nineteen year old,” Finstock announces. “Why wouldn’t I want to be in theater?”

“Derek Hale?” the other teacher clarifies. Derek nods, still fighting back a grin at his coach. “My name’s Mrs Martin, producer and co-director. What part will you be auditioning for today?”

“I don’t really have a preference.” He sees for the first time that Page is situated at the piano. She nods in greeting. “I learned the parts for Sandy, but I thought I could leave it up to you guys.”

“Solid idea, Hale. There’s a reason you almost made captain,” Finstock approves, before turning to his co-director. “You’re in for a treat; he’s got a great singing voice.”

Derek feels himself flush hot at the compliment. Alright, he definitely needs to be more aware when he’s got a song stuck in his head. “Um, how should I start?”

“We can do a read-through first, then the dance aud--”

“No need for that, Hale’s footwork on a field is audition enough,” Finstock interrupts, giving him a proud nod.

Mrs Martin sighs. “And then your audition song. We’d prefer if you haven’t chosen one from the play, but we understand if this is your first audition process.”

Derek nods, suddenly even more nervous.

“Alright, Greenberg, if you wouldn’t mind reading our Danni parts?”

It’s not as bad as he was expecting, in truth. He manages to recall all his own lines, even if Greenberg goes a little hard on the tough-girl thing in a disturbing way that throws him off for a second. Finstock claps enthusiastically, standing when he’s done, while Mrs Martin makes notes on the paper in front of her, her face impassive.

“Now the song. Do you have a backing track with you? Or do you have sheet music to share with our pianist?”

Paige interrupts. “I’ll be accompanying him.” She smiles at Derek encouragingly and swings her legs around on the stool, reaching for her beat-up old acoustic guitar.

“My audition song is, uh,by Katy Perry,” Derek informs, a croak in his throat. They’d picked a female artist since he’d be - hopefully - singing parts written for female voices. Coach frowns while Mrs Martin looks intriguingly impressed. She holds her hands up.

“Take it away.”

His heart leaps in a staccatoed rhythm as the intro begins. Paige made some suggestions, but the choice was up to him ultimately, and he realizes now that he might have chosen wrong.

He misses his cue the first time. Paige jerks her eyebrows at him and seamlessly makes it sounds like she’s tuning up. Derek faces the directors, takes a breath, and sings.

[ “ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aro4UBXVa-c) [ _ Summer after high school, when we first met, _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aro4UBXVa-c)

[ _ We’d make out in your Mustang to Radiohead.. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aro4UBXVa-c) [ ” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aro4UBXVa-c)

Derek’s never knowingly sung in front of an audience before. The first few shaky lines give way to the melody, and he steps a bit closer to the edge of the stage. Paige had said his biggest issue was projecting his voice, so he concentrates on that a little. Oddly, the most encouragement comes when Mrs Martin looks up in surprise at the chorus, setting her pen down. He thinks about the words as he sings them, clenching his fists by his sides. Right as he gets to the vocal rolls, the door at the back of the auditorium slams open, and Derek falters when Erica storms in.

“This is bullshit,” she announces, striding down the walkway. Paige stops playing when the directors spin.

“Derek?” Erica says in question, before seeming to remember she was on a rampage and turning back to the teachers. “Sorry, it’s just--Do you know who was _born_ to play Rizzo? Me. I was. But _apparently_ some guy is being cast in my dream role--”

“There are plenty of parts for girls,” Mrs Martin says defiantly. “The gender-swapped nature of the production is so that we can turn stereotypes around, something that the character of Rizzo would definitely approve of.”

Erica glares back at her. “Fine, when are the girls’ auditions?”

“Same time tomorrow,” Finstock tells her. “Bring that attitude, I like it!”

Erica seems a little thrown. “Okay,” she says, then nods to Derek. “Cast him as Sandy. He’s got the innocent, wholesome good-guy thing going on.”

“Thanks for your input, Ms...?”

“Reyes, Erica Reyes,” she grins. “Remember that name.”

“Greenberg! See the crazy one out. Hale, we’ve seen enough.”

Derek jolts. “I didn’t finish the song...”

“Casting decisions will be posted on Friday both online and the theatre group bulletin board outside this auditorium,” Mrs Martin says with an air of finality. “Good luck.”

Derek climbs down from the stage, slightly dazed, then looks to Paige. She shrugs, twisting her mouth and sets the guitar down again. Honestly, he’s not sure how it went, but it’s over now. When he’s out of the auditorium, it’s only to find Erica waiting for him at the doorway.

“Nice pipes,” she compliments, making it sound really dirty. Derek turns his face away.

“Thanks.”

“Boyd auditioning?”

“I’m working on it,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m allowed to be curious, Derek. We’ll never be best friends if you’re so suspicious all the time.” She steps closer to the sign-up sheet for the play and reads over the names. There’s a thoughtful noise, and then she scribbles out a couple of them ahead of the auditions tomorrow.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“They’re hardly competition,” Erica shrugs. “And Lydia’s mom can’t cast her in the lead without it looking like favoritism.” She reaches forward suddenly, starts squeezing Derek’s arm and poking him in the stomach.

“What the hell?”

“Just making sure you’re in shape for the prom scene. I’m not being tossed around in the air by someone who weighs as much as I do.”

“You’re kind of exhausting,” he huffs, smiling despite himself.

“And you’re a closet Katy Perry fan. We’re learning so much about each other today.” She reaches out to ruffle his hair and stalks off, leaving Derek - as with the last time he encountered this girl - feeling like he’s been run over by a blonde whirlwind.

* * *

If Stiles could bestow any power on his best friend, it’d be the ability to read facial cues. Not only would it be timesaving, but it’d prevent conversations like the one he’s having right now.

“Why is your face doing that?”

Stiles jerks his eyebrows again, and throws in a head-tilt. Kira is walking the opposite way down the hall, and this is the first time she and Scott have been in proximity while Stiles is there to make the necessary introductions.

Scott holds his hands up in much the same fashion he does when the old Russian lady that lives across the street yells at him for something to do with her garden. Stiles slumps.

“HEY KIRA!” he bellows, making several people around them flinch, including Scott, who is frozen still for completely different reasons.

She smiles bashfully at Stiles, pushing through the crowds to get to him, and Scott hasn’t stopped staring.

“Hey, Stiles.”

“What’s up? You know my friend Scott, right?" he beams, patting his buddy on the chest.

Kira sneaks a look at him through her hair. “Nice to meet you.”

Scott keeps staring until he gets a helpful kick to the shin. “How goes?”

Stiles jerks back, seeming to notice at the exact same time as Scott what an awkward thing that was to say. His friend cringes, and Stiles tries his best not to draw too much attention to it - Scott and Allison got together in junior high, and even then, she did the asking-out. He’s never done this before, which makes it a _good_ thing that he has Stiles around for once.

“Uhm, okay,” Kira offers, bless her. “New town and stuff. Lots happening.”

“No way!” Scott says, like it’s the most interesting thing anyone’s ever said to him. “How do you like it?”

“It’s cool. A little warmer than New York - I kinda wish I got to be here in the summer.”

“You’re from New York?” Scott gushes, “That’s so cool.”

“Way cool,” Stiles deadpans. “Hey, you know what else is cool? The patch on Kira’s backpack.” Stiles gestures to an iron-on from a skate company he knows for sure Scott has a matching sticker on his board. Stiles doesn’t skate so much anymore, but Scott never stopped. If it were possible for Scott’s eyes to bulge out of his head they’d be making a valiant effort right now.

“No way, you skate?”

Kira glances at the patch. “I did back in Queens. Why, do you?”

Proudly, he brandishes an elbow that’s grossly torn up with road rash. “Every chance I get.”

Instead of disturbed, Kira actually looks impressed, hesitantly reaching out to touch it. “Seriously? I miss it _so_ much. I had a park that I basically lived in, but I haven’t found the same here.”

Scott looks sympathetic. “That’s rough.”

The conversation dies a little. Stiles gives it about fifteen seconds until Kira starts looking uncomfortable and he swoops in. “Yo Scott, maybe you could show Kira Jed’s place... since she needs a spot to skate?”

Both their faces light up. “You want to?” Scott asks, “We could go this weekend--”

“Yeah I - I mean, that’d be cool. You want to text me?”

“Uh-huh,” Scott nods, like all his Christmas wishes came true at once. He digs out his phone and hands it to her, apologizing for the cracked screen, but she just laughs. They’re going to be nauseating. It’s awesome.

Stiles steps away to let them plan, smirking in satisfaction when something else catches his eye. They’re right outside the entrance to the auditorium, and there’s a sheet posted, announcing the parts for the school play. He snorts when he sees Erica’s name - any excuse for attention - and Lydia and Danny, but what makes the smile drop off his face is the other lead.

_Sandy Dumbowski - Derek Hale_

He blinks in surprise. He knew Derek was the school darling in terms of sports achievements, but that shy, reserved individual in front of an audience? It’s not something he can imagine. Stiles smiles. Derek manages to surprise him, even now, in the most subtle ways, and that moment, more than anything, makes him wish he could talk to Derek about it.

 

 

> “What did you think I was like?” Derek asked. He skipped a stone into the waves with an impressive amount of force and glanced sideways. Stiles replied with a shrug, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The sight of the muscles moving in Derek’s shoulders was a little much sometimes. Stiles found himself over-conscious of what his hands were doing, aching to reach out and follow the path of his eyes. They weren’t there yet. Derek gave him these looks now and then, like he’d be okay with it, but a couple of stolen kisses in private wasn’t the same as PDA. Stiles should remember that.
> 
> “You can’t just say ‘I’m not what you thought I’d be like’ and leave it at that,” he prodded, turning to walk backwards in the sand, like watching Stiles was the most important thing in the world.
> 
> “Just... I don’t know, like everyone else. People here either treat me like I’m invisible or a charity case. You don’t know how many times I’ve been slipped a dollar like it’s some life-changing amount of money.”
> 
> “That’s pretty insulting,” Derek agreed thoughtfully. “You’re at least worth five.”
> 
> Stiles kicked a scoop of sand up at him. “I take it back - you’re a dick.”
> 
> Derek laughed, this huge, belly-based rumble that made Stiles grin despite his efforts to scowl. That was the best sound he’d heard all year.
> 
> “Seriously though,” Derek continued. “If anyone makes you feel small, they’re a piece of shit.”
> 
> “There you go, being the exception to the rule.” Stiles could hear the wistful quality to his own voice, and it made his stomach clench. He was falling hard and fast and he didn’t think he wanted to grab on to anything to stop himself. “I’d see you, lounging by the pool, playing tennis and stuff, and I’d think - that guy has to be an asshole. Nobody looks like him and has what he has and _doesn’t_ let it go to his head.”
> 
> Derek hid a smile as he looked down. They’d stopped on the beach at some point, facing each other in front of the sea.
> 
> “I was probably just trying really hard not to get caught looking at you,” he confessed. “You stood out somehow. You have this - this energy. It’s hard to explain.”
> 
> “I think I get it,” Stiles grinned. He’d spent the first week surreptitiously watching Derek, finding excuses to be near him because he’d decided he wanted him, and just needed a reason to dislike him enough to dump him when the season ended.
> 
> He was kind of screwed now.
> 
> “You make me sound like I’m some kind of rebel, just because I’m not a jerk.”
> 
> “Believe me, I know you’re a fucking marshmallow,” Stiles replied sardonically. “Who turns down a date with a hot guy just because they might get in trouble?”
> 
> “Sometimes it’s easier to toe the line,” Derek countered, drawing a line in the sand between them with his foot, because he’s a goddamn dork beneath the perfect abs and Hollywood hair and carved jawline. “And who said you were hot? Cute, maybe, but hot...?”
> 
> Stiles bit his lip, shoving him lightly in the chest. “Dude, we went way past coy when you put your tongue in my mouth,” he said jovially. “And in case you hadn't noticed, rules aren’t my style.”
> 
> “Yeah, you’re such a horrible person, helping the elderly and all.”
> 
> “Still technically against the rules.” He smudged the line with his own foot and Derek huffed.
> 
> “Alright, badass. You know you don’t look so tough with all this fluffy hair?”
> 
> “Another example. I only buzzed it because my mom liked it longer. Got mad and shaved it off because she didn't want me to, and I was pissed at her.”
> 
> Derek frowned. “For getting sick?”
> 
> “For leaving me. I was thirteen, what are you gonna do?” He lifted a shoulder. “Then I guess it became a trademark.”
> 
> Derek reached up and scratched lightly through his hair. Stiles couldn’t help it - he let his eyes slip shut and leaned into it, opening them again to find Derek’s, closer than before, greener than the ocean. Derek definitely seemed approving of his new look. No matter how things started, his hands always drifted to Stiles’ hair, and Stiles was probably developing a new kink.
> 
> “Ever think maybe she was just looking out for you?” Derek asked quietly, giving it a little tug. “It pays off to take a little advice sometimes.”

“You’re hovering,” Lydia says when he finds her. She’s taking notes by hand from her tablet, and her eyes don’t even lift from the page when he rounds to face her.

“First off, congratulations on getting cast in the play,” he leads with. She seems unimpressed, making a winding motion with her hand, so he barrels on. “Uh... You said I changed into a different person.” This time, she does look at him.

It’s something she alluded to plenty of times before, but Stiles was happy living in the reality where he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him, and he liked letting Lydia believe she was one of them.

“ _I’m sorry for being an asshole, Lydia, but it’s a habit I developed over the past few years and I can’t seem to kick it,”_ she mocks, speaking to her notes again. “It’s okay, Stiles, I understand.”

“Fine, I’m sorry,” he grouses, “But I need to - if there was a way I could have made it up to you, back before the damage was really done, how could that have gone?”

“Better apologies, for a start.”

“Lydia, _please._ ”

She frowns up at him. “Is this about Derek Hale?” she asks. “Stiles, I need you to do one thing for me, and that’s make a good decision for once in your life. Can you do that?” Stiles scowls at her. “That guy is out of your league. I don’t even know him, but he looks like a tiny, blind puppy, and you’re the humvee about to run him over.”

“I agree,” he says, changing tactic, “but I want to... not be?”

A little wrinkle appears between her flawless eyebrows. “Hmm, you _do_ have emotions.”

He grits his teeth. He probably deserves that.

She lets out a sigh. “Sit. Talk.”

He folds himself into the seat opposite and leans on the table. “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m not responsible for you,” she huffs, “but as someone who can draw from experience, I know your dual personalities are a freaking headache. One minute you’re a genuinely good guy and then the next it’s like I don’t even recognize you. I’m betting it’s the same for Derek.”

“So I should, what, change or something?”

“How about you start by convincing him you’re still the person he met in the summer. I don’t know what you did, but the look on his face when he talked about you that first day was... he was _smitten_.”

Stiles’ stomach does a backflip. “Do, uh, do you think there’s hope?”

Lydia seems to think about it, twisting her mouth. “The longer you let other people tell him their version of you, the harder it’ll be to convince him that you’re the same person. The only reason I put up with your shit for so long is because I’d known you since the sandbox. With people like Erica Reyes whispering in his ear, who knows what he thinks by now.”

Stiles frowns down at the table. He’d seen Derek and Erica talking once or twice, and the prospect hadn’t seemed great - but when Lydia puts it like that...

“I need an excuse to talk to him.”

“How about you just _go talk to him?_ ”

“No,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “His guard will be up, I--I need... I'll think of something.”

The idea comes to him at once. On the bulletin board earlier, there’d been a sign-up sheet, asking for help with the backstage work. Okay, so Stiles doesn’t _strictly_ have any experience with that, but he could figure it out? Fuck, he must have it bad if he’s considering social suicide like this. High school _theater?_ He can just picture the look on everyone’s faces.

As he’s lost in thought, Scott tackle-hugs him from behind with one of his little worshippers, Liam... Something, in tow.

“You’re the _ultimate_ bro!”

Stiles smiles softly over his shoulder. “You and Kira make some plans?”

“She’s _so_ cool,” he sighs, then notices Lydia for the first time. “Um, hey.”

“So there _is_ a new girl on the horizon,” she teases. He bites his lip. “Stop looking at me like that. Allison is fine, she’s in a good place.”

“What’s with the baby duck?” Stiles asks, gesturing to Liam. He guesses if anyone was a BHHS equivalent of Derek, it would kind of be Scott. He seems to have his own fan club made up of younger kids, some of which were way over-invested when they heard about the golden couple’s split. There were Facebook petitions.

“Liam’s gonna try out for lacrosse this year with the Devenford coach, so I promised we’d run some drills after school. Gotta nix our plans, that okay?”

Stiles levels the kid with a withering look. “Aren’t you the kid who tried out twice with Coach Mills already?”

“Coach Mills quit when the school flooded, and Scott says it’s never too late to start fresh,” the kid retorts, bitch-facing at Stiles like an offended hamster. “I spent all summer bulking up.” He puffs his chest out like it’ll somehow make his words magically true but Stiles just sneers.

“As long as you’re content with your own embarrassment.”

“Whoa, dude, lay off," Scott reprimands, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “Mills was just too lazy to put in the effort with him. If there’s a chance it could make Liam happy, it’s always worth a try.”

That, more than anything, decides it. If he goes through with this theatre thing, he’s putting himself out there, trying something new that he’ll probably mess up in the hopes it’ll prove something... but it could be really worth it. If it makes things right with Derek, maybe even convinces him to give Stiles another shot, it'd be worth all the snide comments in the world. Worth everything, if it worked out.

For Derek, he could try. If not, he’ll always wish he did.

“I know what I’m gonna do,” he tells Lydia, who takes a second to catch up.

“About Derek?” she asks. He nods.

“Dude, awesome!” Scott praises, but Lydia looks unconvinced.

“If it involves waiting for him naked in his car, I have to discourage that.”

“What?” Stiles squawks, “No, that’s - Danny and I had a bet. That was something else entirely.”

“Good,” Lydia says dubiously. “What is it?”

“Simple,” Stiles grins. “I’m gonna embrace my inner nerd.”

* * *

“Why am I here again?”

Derek scratches at his nose and shifts around in his seat. It’s the first production meeting for the musical, and he managed to not only get Boyd to sign up, but he's landed a part. If nothing else, at least he’ll have a friend around on the days Paige isn’t there.

“They’re having trouble finding guys willing to take parts traditionally played by girls. I told them I’d round some guys up for the other parts.’

Boyd sends him a disbelieving look. “You mean you didn’t wanna come alone and I’m your safety blanket.” Derek stares back at his self-satisfied grin, but doesn’t deny it, so Boyd huffs. “I always thought Frenchy was pretty solid.” He lifts a shoulder. “She’s nice to Sandy when other people aren’t. It’s cool.”

It takes a second, but Derek snorts. “Holy shit, you’re serious?”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s gonna have to sing about your virginity.”

“Actually, that’s gonna be whoever plays Rizzo - Danny... something.”

“Mahealani,” Boyd says, jerking his head as Stiles’ friend walks in the door, engrossed in his phone. “Cyclones’ goalie, remember?”

Derek does, right in that moment. The guy had blocked a game-winning shot and Jackson had had it out for him ever since. Derek doesn’t tend to take much notice of the opposing team; they’re usually just a parade of faceless obstacles in his way on the field, and that might help now that they’re going to be his teammates. It’s also part of the reason he declined the offer to be captain in favor of Jackson - when he gets his mind in the zone, it’s better if he can just switch off. Lacrosse and swimming are good for that: just him, the burn in his muscles and the satisfaction of success. No thinking.

Plus, Jackson’s better at bossing people around than Derek will ever be.

This is definitely outside of his comfort zone.

Erica enters the room with a secretive smirk, followed closely behind by Lydia, who is glaring daggers at the back of Erica’s head. there was definitely an exchange of words outside the room that Derek would rather not know about. Erica’s eyes light up with curiosity when she catches sight of Boyd, but she simply finger-waves at Derek as she takes her seat. Lydia assesses the group mutely, raising a brow in private judgement.

He’s seen Paige buzzing in and out of the room since he got here, but as always, she seems too busy to offer more than an acknowledging nod as she rolls her eyes at Greenberg.

The procession continues, until at last Mrs. Martin walks in, carrying a stack of scripts and a clipboard. The murmured conversation dies down as she sets down the pile and comes to a stand in the middle of the circle of seats.

“Thanks for coming everyone,” she begins, smiling genially. “Mr Finstock sends his apologies, but he’s getting a haircut. This is the first meeting of the Beacon Hills-Devenford production of Grease." She gestures around the room. "Everyone here is either cast, production or musical. Take a look at the people around you - you’re going to be seeing a lot more of them over the coming months.”

Just as she says it, there’s a thrash in the doorway, and all heads turn as Stiles stumbles in, clearly out of breath. Derek does a double-take. _Stiles_ is in the play?

“Did I miss the- Oh. Uh, my bad. Detention,” he announces with a thumb pointed over his shoulder, gulping in air.

“Mr. Stilinski,” their director says. Derek’s eyes narrow at the last name. _Stiles is named Stiles Stilinski? Why is that familiar?_ “You’re just in time. Please take a seat, and try not to make a habit of hogging all the attention.”

He grins back at the teacher familiarly and slides a chair into the circle. “Can’t help having a god-given talent.” He plops down on the chair with a wink at Mahealani, only then seeming to notice Derek sitting across from him. The leery grin slides off his face, a soft smile in place of it. Derek trains his eyes on Mrs Martin.

“As I was saying,” she continues. “We’re all going to be spending a lot of time together. There is no hierarchy here. The production crew is just as important as the cast as the musical and dance department, and it takes all of you to make this a success.”

“Of course, nepotism does help,” Erica puts in and Lydia opens her mouth to retort.

“ _Everyone,_ ” Mrs Martin reiterates firmly. “If there are problems between departments or individuals, they won’t be tolerated. Each person here is giving up their time for this, and everyone deserves to have an enjoyable experience.”

Derek feels Stiles’ eyes on him as she speaks, but he refuses to meet them. It’s bad enough that most of his concentration is being spent wondering what part Stiles has, if they’re going to have any scenes together, _what is he doing here?_

“Guess you don’t need me after all,” Boyd whispers, leaning in. Derek refuses to look at him, instead, kicking his ankle with his foot.

“Shut up.”

“That’s him, right? Stiles?”

Derek’s eyes flick to Stiles, but he’s unsubtly watching him right back.

“I’m good with pretending he’s not here, okay?”

Boyd leans back, folding his arms. “Whatever you tell yourself, man.”

“Why don’t we get started with introductions?” Mrs. Martin is saying. “We’ll begin with our cast. Erica?”

She raises her hand in a wave. “Erica Reyes. Playing Danni. Senior. Born for this.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and Stiles snorts. Boyd grins at Erica as she tosses her hair over one shoulder, raking her fingers through the strands languidly.

Mrs. Martin raises her eyebrows at Derek and he clears his throat. “Uh, Derek Hale. Senior. Playing Sandy.” He darts his eyes around the group, darting past Stiles, who sits up straighter. “This is my first time doing anything like this, so it’s all new for me.”

He slumps with relief as Boyd takes over. “Boyd. Here for a friend. Playing Frenchy.”

“Lydia Martin. Playing Nickie. Here on talent alone,” she says loadedly, and Erica sighs.

“Danny Mahealani. Playing Rizzo. I’ve got nothing else going on until Lacrosse season starts.”

The rest of the introductions go on, through more minor characters and understudies. Derek can’t help but let his eyes wander to Stiles when the cast is done and he’s yet to speak. He’s slumped in his chair, playing lazily with a string torn from the ripped knees of his jeans, a knowing smirk plastered on his face. It’s messed up that Derek finds that charming, even now.

The only other person who seems as interested in Stiles’ presence is Lydia. Derek caught the way her eyes lingered when Stiles entered the room, narrowed and suspicious, and now when she reaches her foot across to kick at the leg of Stiles’ chair when the introductions go around. He flails for a moment, then clamps his feet around her foot as Greenberg clears his throat.

“We’ll also have a small backstage crew and uh, some production designers and props and costumes and stuff,” Greenberg says. Stiles straightens up to hold his hands out, barely flinching this time when Lydia gets him in the ankle with her pointed shoe.

“We’ll be the ones making sure you all look good, so be nice to us,” Stiles says. He glances at Derek. “Alternative methods of persuasion are encouraged.”

Derek’s ears heat up, but he resolutely looks away.

“Alright,” Mrs. Martin says, “With that out of the way, I think it’s time for the first read-through.”

Greenberg takes his cue and begins distributing the scripts, and Derek swallows as he gears himself up to do this before an audience. Erica is pretty great, even if it is abundantly clear she plans on stealing the show. Lydia takes their real-life rivalry to the character, playing off the competitive aspect of Danni and Nicki’s friendship and somehow managing to make it charming. The hardest part, though, is ignoring the private smile on Stiles’ face as Derek reads through his lines. His presence in the room is stifling, and Derek loses his place twice before angling himself into a position where he can’t see him. By the time they’re halfway done, Derek is frustrated, and by the time Mrs.Martin breaks the meeting for the day, he’s in a crappy mood when he feels the presence at his side.

“This is actually going to be pretty cool,” Stiles announces, but Derek concentrates on shrugging on his jacket and leaving Erica to reply.

“Of course it is. You think I’d get involved if it wasn’t?”

“And here I was thinking it was just so you could kiss a hot guy in front of an audience. I gotta try not to get too jealous.”

Derek stiffens. Even Erica looks surprised he actually came out and said it. He flicks his eyes up to Stiles, who looks at once satisfied to have gotten a reaction.

“You’d need a reason to be,” Derek croaks, hating the unsteady quality of his voice.He makes an effort to stalk away, but Stiles follows, trying to re-establish eye contact intently.

“I definitely have plenty of those.”

It’s the first time they’ve properly spoken since everything. Derek’s body turns itself almost magnetically to respond to him. He’s only vaguely aware of Erica’s subtle interest at the exchange while she feigns involvement in the other castmates’ conversations, but all he can really look at are the bright, engaging pools of Stiles’ eyes, the lazy grin he’s wearing, and the too-familiar scent of him, up close and heady.

Derek gulps, scowling at the floor in an effort to snap himself out of Stiles’ thrall. “Yeah well, sucks to be you, then.”

“You’re here,” Stiles counters instantly. “Life’s pretty great for me right now.”

Derek shakes his head, turning for the door and the safety of being away from this conversation. Away from the feeling that he’s about to slip back into a hole from which he’s only just started to dig himself out. But Derek shouldn’t be the one removing himself. Stiles came to _him_ , inserted himself in _Derek’s_ world, and if anyone should be retreating, it isn’t Derek. He turns back.

“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly. He wishes he could keep the forceful demand out of his voice, but Stiles seems unfazed by it anyway.

“I decided to make some changes. Is it gonna be a problem?” The way Stiles says it suggests he wants Derek to say _yes, I’m trying to forget about you and you’re making it too hard,_ but he refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“No. As long as this isn’t some...” Derek gestures vaguely. “Look, you made it clear how you feel. About me, so...”

“But what if I didn’t mean it?” Stiles asks. He sounds genuine for the first time all day. Derek stares back at him, so tempted to respond to it. Instead, he turns away.

“I’ve given up figuring out the difference between what you say and what you mean, Stiles,” Derek says. “It’s not worth it.”

“It could be, though.” Stiles says, rounding in front of him. He reaches out as if to touch Derek’s arm, then thinks better of it. He holds his hands up.

“Look, if you want me to - I’ll stay out of your way, okay?” He darts his eyes around to check nobody is listening. They probably still are. “All you have to do is tell me you want me to. I’ll always respect your - Just tell me.”

Derek’s stomach turns over. It’d be so easy to paint Stiles in this villainous light that won’t take no for an answer - but the truth is, he’s never been that way. Every decision Derek’s made that landed them in this mess has been Derek’s own. Derek approached Stiles, fell for Stiles, convinced himself that Stiles was different. He’s got nobody to blame but himself, which is why he takes the responsibility, again, to make this decision.

Even though his throat is burning when he says, “Stay away from me. Please.”

It’s not a physical thing, but Stiles shrinks back a little when he says it. All the bravado rushes out of him like hot air, and Derek watches the muscles in his jaw work before he nods, holding his hands up once again.

“Okay,” he says lightly. “If that’s what you want.”

He takes a step backward then, and the most messed up thing is that as soon as he’s walked away, Derek’s traitorous brain supplies his response.

 _No,_ he thinks, _it isn’t._

 


	5. My Heart is Saying 'Don't Let Go'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is pining from afar, Real Talks, and Derek is hopelessly devoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO MUCH for the enthusiasm from the last chapter. I feel like this story is starting to gather steam and it's stunning that people are getting in on it while it's still a WIP. 
> 
> DID YOU KNOW that [findiulasclln created a stunning cover for this story???](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/119616553556/there-aint-no-such-thing-by-howlnatural-summary) I mean, it's exactly how I imagined them both in this universe, and her talent is leaving me lost for words. Please go tell her how wonderfully talented she is.
> 
> My long-suffering beta is loveandallthat7. You owe her so much, but not as much as I do.

 

“But does it make me look like I’m trying too hard?”

Stiles flicks his eyes from where he was tracking the lacrosse ball’s rise through the air and frowns. He lazily catches it. “Wasn’t your first date to a skate park?”

“So?”

“So, literally _anything_ is a step up from a muscle shirt and boardshorts. Dude, chill.”

“Can you smell cat on me?”

Stiles sighs, “No, I can’t smell cat on you.”

“What if she wants to go somewhere really fancy and I look like a hobo? What if we end up at a diner and I’m super overdressed?” Scott’s eyes widen. “What if she to go for Japanese food and I forget how to use chopsticks?”

“What if she’s worried _you_ wanna go for tacos and she spills guac all over herself? Don’t stereotype, dude.”

Scott tilts his head. “What? That’s not what I--” He grins once he notices Stiles’ lips pressed together, fighting a laugh. “Fuck you, man.”

“You know you’re being ridiculous,” Stiles shrugs, tossing the ball again. “Girl wants to be on you. It’s a done deal.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make an effort,” Scott says in offense. “What’s with you today?”

“I just think it’s kinda stupid that you guys are going on a date but you have no idea where.”

“It’s called going with the flow. It’s cute.”

“Dude, everyone knows you guys are adorable, tone it down.”

“I forgot you were an expert on dating.”

“Hey, when I take someone out, I do it right,” Stiles smirks, but it dissolves into a pensive expression. “That’s one thing I _know_ how to do.”

Scott slumps on the edge of the bed and fixes him with a determined look. “Spill.”

The ball falls to the bed with a muffled thump. Stiles doesn’t even try to look innocent or feign confusion. “It’s Derek.”

Scott turns away, nodding as he lifts another shirt and sniffs at it. “I thought you were doing that play-thing to get near him. It’s not working?”

“Could say that. I talked to him once. Didn’t end well.”

“Sorry, man. Can I help?”

“Not unless you can reverse time and punch me in the face right before I said a bunch of hurtful shit in front of him.”

Scott smiles crookedly. “I could punch you in the face in front of him _now?_ ”

“Helpful,” Stiles deadpans, nudging Scott with his foot. “As much as I’m sure Derek would enjoy that, the last time I came home with a black eye my dad took the keys to my jeep.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t want to see you punched in the face. He probably likes your face,” Scott tells him fondly, and Stiles melts, just a little.

“Save it for Kira, dude. I might puke.”

Scott stands again, remembering his valiant quest. “So it’s a no to the sports jacket?”

“Dude, does that even fit you anymore?”

“I bought it for his cousin’s quinceanera when he was thirteen, so I’m guessing not,” Scott’s mom butts in, folding her arms at the door. She takes a look at the mess of the room and seems to instantly accuse Stiles with her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” he says instantly, holding his hands up. “This was all him.”

Her eyes slide to Scott and she frowns slightly. “You’re back with Allison?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, dipping his chin. “Stiles introduced me to a girl - her name’s Kira.”

Before Melissa can ask, Stiles cuts in, “Don’t worry, she’s the opposite of me.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” she mutters, and Stiles tries really hard not to take it to heart. If he ever had a kid like Scott some day, the last person he’d want them to be friends with is someone like Stiles. She’s just being a good mom.

“I’m so touched,” he croaks, crinkling his forehead.

Melissa stoops to pick up a discarded pair of pants and absently folds them. “I made chicken casserole. Take some home to that dad of yours, okay? I don’t want to know the last time he had a fresh vegetable.”

Stiles swallows, a feeling of gratitude swelling up in his throat - it’s not like he’s in a position to coax his dad into taking care of himself these days, so it’s nice someone is. Melissa singlehandedly kept them held together after they lost Stiles’ mom; Stiles has no idea how she managed to think of anyone else while she was going through a divorce and raising a teenager alone, but then, he’s not sure he’s ever met anyone as strong as she is.

“Yeah, I’ll - thanks.”

“And take your feet off the bed, I just washed the sheets.”

Scott snorts when Stiles lets his feet drop, instantly chided at the mom-voice. “Sorry Melissa,” he mumbles, then licks his lips. “Hey, so my dad’s got nights off this week, if you wanna go harass him yourself.”

Melissa stills slightly, throwing him a curious look. “No, I think it’s better if it comes from a third party. Makes him feel like he’s under surveillance.”

Stiles forces a smile at the letdown, nodding slowly into his lap. “Sure.”

She turns to her son. “So where are you taking this Kira?”

“That’s the beauty of it, mom. We’re just gonna meet up and see where we feel like going,” he grins, holding his hands out, but his mom rolls her eyes.

“That’s a terrible idea for an early date. Take the girl somewhere nice, dress appropriately, and make it a place to remember. It’s like I’ve taught you nothing.”

Stiles puffs up. “See? What’d I tell ya?”

“Sorry, Dr Love,” Scott scowls. “If you’re so full of ideas, give me one. If it was Derek, where would you take him?”

Glancing away, Stiles smiles wistfully. He knows exactly where he’d like to take Derek on a date, but that’s something just for him. He’s planned out an entire night in his head, but for now it’s a secret, saved for if he’s ever lucky enough to make it real.

“It’s Thursday. Take Kira to the drive-in horror movie showing at the complex. Buy a ton of candy and junk food and make out in the car. She likes gnarly shit like you and she has a Frankenstein's monster decal on her binder.”

Scott stares at him like he just shared state secrets. Stiles just shrugs.

“You forget I was planning to woo her myself before I knew she was into you. I did my homework.”

“You’re kind of amazing, dude,” Scott breathes, and Melissa holds her hands up.

“I was thinking ‘diabolical’, but there’s a reason I’ve seen you at the sexual health clinic more times than I’m comfortable with,” Mrs McCall says, blinking extendedly.

Stiles sits back on the bed, about to put his feet up before he remembers. “My talents are my talents,” he smirks, lacing his hands behind his head.

If only they were any way useful for his _own_ situation.

* * *

 

Lungs burning, Derek gulps in air, wiping at his eyes. Sound rushes back at him, a wall of it now that his head is above water, and he turns his back to the edge of the pool, pushing off again.

He’s been trying to switch his mind off since he got in the water, but each time he closes his eyes, all he can see is a mocking slideshow flashing before him. Stiles squinting at him in the sunlight. Stiles laughing, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand as they sat together on the grass. Stiles reaching out to thumb a smudge of icing from the corner of Derek’s lip.

The images from summer are familiar territory. Derek’s been living with them for weeks now, had them tainted by recent events and dulled like out-of-date film from a better time. The new ones - Stiles sitting crosslegged at the edge of the stage while he tinkers with a faulty light, giving direction to the set designers as they reshuffle the backdrop with a look of concentration, exclaiming in delight when Mrs Martin shows up with a box of donuts - are a new kind of hell.

Dividing the guy he thought he knew into separate compartments is what’s been keeping him grounded. The Stiles from summer and the Stiles here are two people who share nothing but a familiar face and an ability to get right under Derek’s skin, but since rehearsals started just over a week ago, that’s become more and more difficult.

Stiles eats candy when he’s trying to focus. He ruffles his hair until it stands on end when he’s figuring out a problem. He knows his way around a circuit board like the back of his hand, and he keeps his promises.

That part might be the worst. Though Derek’s seen Stiles four times over the course of the last week, Stiles hasn’t once approached him or instigated any kind of conversation past a formal ‘hi’ when they first see each other. Derek is torn.

Yeah, this is what he’d wanted: a chance to heal, some space to think and the time to put it all behind him - but Stiles being in his life every day without being _in_ his life is something else entirely. It’s not torture. Torture would imply that he can’t stand it, and being around Stiles has never been something he couldn’t stand, but it’s certainly not fun. Not when Stiles is _right there_ but still so maddeningly far away. No, the sinking feeling he gets when Stiles is around is because, okay, he’d asked for space, but Stiles could at least act like it’s costing him something to give it. He’s just... _fine_... when Derek feels like something deep beneath his skin is cracked and about to crumble.

He swims two more lengths before remembering he’s supposed to be here for a reason. Isaac is sitting with his feet paddling in the water when Derek finally resurfaces, staring at him with a look of concern.

“Are you just showing off or trying for a record?” he asks. Derek heaves himself up to sit beside him, their skin pebbling in the air.

“Distracted I guess,” Derek offers. “Your time’s getting better.”

“A little,” Isaac shrugs. He studies his own feet in the water. “So, I talked to Heather.”

Derek musters up a smile. “Oh yeah? How’d it go?”

“Turns out it’s not so much _older_ guys she’s interested in, it’s less... safe.”

“Safe?” Derek frowns.

“Her last steady boyfriend was Stiles.”

Derek stills. “Stiles.”

“Was over a year ago, but yeah. She kinda blew me off after class, and her friend Danielle hinted that she goes for people a little less... what was it? ‘Bambi-ish’.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Seems like it’s not just you Stiles is managing to fuck around with,” Isaac points out. “Did you know?”

Derek shakes his head. “There’s a lot we didn’t talk about over the summer.”

“Figures. He seems pretty cool. Back then he did, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.

 

 

 

 

> Derek patted at his face with the towel, letting it dangle from his hand as he caught sight of the guy - Stiles, he’d since learned - gulping water from a bottle as the made his way across the tiles. He seemed overheated, his skin flushed pink and glistening and streaks of dirt over his uniform. Derek stepped closer curiously, and as he did, the guy seemed to notice him for the first time.
> 
> Stiles’ eyes tracked down the length of him for a beat, stopping himself only when he remembered what he looked like right now. His hand went self-consciously to his brow and he quickened his steps.
> 
> “What happened to you?”
> 
> Stiles let out a breath, turning with a shrug. “Had an argument with some lawn equipment, what do you think?”
> 
> Derek frowned. “Thought you were supposed to be a pool waiter?”
> 
> “Thought you weren’t interested,” Stiles smirked.
> 
> “Never said that,” Derek replied, holding out the towel.
> 
> He’d been kicking himself for turning down Stiles’ invitation to hang out for days, wondering if he’d made a huge mistake. It’s not like Mom was around - she’d been summering with Laura for the past month and Cora had been disdainfully keeping him updated on their exploits - and Richard was more preoccupied with making Isaac miserable or networking to notice if he missed curfew. Stiles continued to be unfairly distracting, coming off just the right side of smart-mouthed charming when the other club members tried his patience - or worse - treated him like a piece of meat. He’d seen the guy deftly dodge a come-on by a divorcee his mom’s age the day before. It was impressive.
> 
> Stiles took the towel begrudgingly, wiping at his face and the just-growing-out fuzz of his hair. He eyed Derek with speculation, and Derek tried his best to look innocently interested.
> 
> “Charlie. The old groundskeeper,” he said by way of explanation. Derek raised a brow and Stiles sighed. “The guy’s like seventy years old. Been here since the place opened and they can’t fire him, but they’re trying to convince him to quit. Asking him to do stuff that he can’t possibly get done without injuring himself or worse, so...”
> 
> “So you’ve been helping him,” Derek surmised. This tiny, warm flicker of fondness sparked in his chest, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the guy before him, awkwardly confessing to a good deed like it was a crime.
> 
> “He’s got a mortgage, and his grandkids are staying with him while his daughter straightens herself out.” A shrug. “‘s not right.”
> 
> “That’s really...” Derek let out a breath. “Wow.”
> 
> Stiles looked away. “Don’t spread it around, okay? He could - We’re trying to keep it quiet.”
> 
> “You’re a really good person,” Derek said honestly. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or embarrassment, but Stiles’ cheeks were ruddy, and he ducked his head.
> 
> “You definitely need to keep that a secret.”
> 
> “Sorry, didn’t realise you had a reputation to uphold,” Derek said with a smirk, hands aloft.
> 
> Stiles tossed the towel back at him. “Fuck you, this whole place runs on reputation.”
> 
> “Really?” Derek asked guilelessly, making a show of glancing around. Richard was at the bar inside, talking the ear off some CEO-type. He never gave up. “I hadn’t noticed.”
> 
> Stiles flipped him off, turning away with a grin. His opportunity was slipping away, so Derek called out, “Hey, Stiles?”
> 
> Stiles spun, surprised at being addressed by name. He didn’t question it, instead tilting his jaw up. “Derek?”
> 
> “Invitation still open? To hang out?” His heart was throbbing, pretty sure that people didn’t get second chances with this guy, or if they did, they didn’t come easily.
> 
> “Thought you needed to be home by bedtime,” Stiles jibed, slowing down his steps.
> 
> “Maybe I should learn to recognize a better offer when I get one.”
> 
> The grin that broke out over Stiles’ face then was immediate. He didn’t even try to clamp it down or hide it - instead, he looked thoughtful. “South-west entrance to the golf course. Know it?”
> 
> “Isn’t it closed?”
> 
> “Yeah, unless you have keys - or know someone who does,” Stiles retorted suggestively. “Midnight. See you there.”
> 
> Derek bit down on his lip and nodded, adrenaline already flooding his system. Was this - did he have a date? With a _guy?_
> 
> “Okay,” he said, trying to sound calm.
> 
> Stiles saluted once and ambled off, straightening up a lounger and a table as he went. Before he reached the staff entrance, he called over his shoulder. The sun was still high in the sky, and the beginnings of a tan was making his skin glow, the moles dotting it darker but less pronounced.
> 
> “Oh and Derek? If you change your mind, tell me - I don’t wait around.”
> 
> Derek swallowed, feeling at once privileged and nervous. “I’m pretty punctual,” he said stupidly, immediately cringing. _What was that?_
> 
> Stiles snorted back, hopping up the step and leaping to catch the sign above it as he did. He turned again as he opened the door, smiling back at him with a loaded look.
> 
> “Second thought - come wearing _that_ and you can show up whenever the hell you want.”
> 
> Derek felt delicious heat rush his body at the look, and as soon as Stiles had clamped the door shut, he dived back into the pool.

* * *

 

“How was work?”

Dad finishes chewing the mouthful and studies him, rearranging his food around the plate before he responds. Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat opposite, avoiding that stare for all he's worth.

“Fine. What did you do?”

Stiles glances up. “Nothing,” he frowns, “Jesus, can’t I just make conversation?”

Dad wipes at his mouth and sits up straight, leaning an arm on the back of his chair as he takes a sip of water. “It’s weird enough that you’re still down here instead of eating in your room - or that you’re home at all. Something happened.”

Stiles lets the silverware fall to the plate with a clang. “Nothing happened. Fuck, and you wonder why I never talk to you.”

The reaction seems to throw his dad for a second. He glares at Stiles thoughtfully and then scrubs a hand over his face. “Alright, I'll bite. Work was routine stuff. How’s the play going?”

Stiles swallows and picks up his fork again. “Fine.” There’s silence, and when he looks up, he’s getting a disbelieving look targeted at him. “What?”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re getting involved - voluntarily - in an after-school project. ”

“Can’t I just want to be part of something?”

“Stiles,” Dad says warningly, and Stiles shrugs. “Is it a guy or a girl?”

Stiles slumps, feeling a begrudging twist tug at his mouth. “Why do you assume there’s a guy or a girl?”

“Because it’s you. Nothing you’ve done in the past three years has been for any other reason, other than to give me gray hairs. A school play isn’t gonna give me gray hairs, so it’s a potential date.”

Stiles snorts in defense and pushes his plate away. “Forget it.”

“Son,” Dad says softly. “If you want to talk about something I’m here. I told you, I’m always here - but it goes both ways.”

Stiles chews on his lip. He hadn’t really envisioned this going any better, but with how Scott’s got his own stuff going on and Lydia’s vocal judgement, the only other people in his life are those he’s slept with or those he’s hurt in some other way. His parents hadn’t had a perfect marriage - Dad always says there’s no such thing - but he remembers his mom joking that John Stilinski ruined her for other men, and after they’d dated briefly the summer after her freshman year of college, just before he enlisted, she hadn’t been able to look at another guy the same way.

Stiles wants that. Watching Derek over the past week without the blinkers of denial has done _something_ to his insides. Stiles had watched him leave the rehearsal with his stomach in knots, overtly aware of the eyes on them, ready to spread his reaction around to anyone who’d listen. The only reason Erica hadn’t outright said something was because she was clearly sizing up Derek’s friend.

On Monday, Stiles had arrived to a just-showered Derek, talking on the phone as he waited for the rest of the group to gather. He’d had to remind himself that it’d be creepy and weird to listen in - _especially_ when the call ended with an “I love you.” He’s hoping it was family, and also that he’ll never find himself at the pool when Derek’s got swim practice. He’s already battling with the _mental_ images.

Wednesday, Greenberg brought donuts. Derek eyed them longingly for an entire minute before giving in when Lydia demanded someone split one with her. Stiles could have forgotten about Derek’s sweet tooth if he wasn’t reminded graphically by the sight of Derek sucking sugar off his own bottom lip, a content little smile gracing the corners of his mouth.

Friday had Mr Finstock yelling at the cast like a drill sergeant. Derek and his friend Boyd were the only ones who seemed unfazed by the thing, and the serious, determined expression Derek wore as he memorized his marks for the first scene were equally as adorable as they were nerdy. Stiles got an up-close view of them when he was hunched low, putting tape on the floor for rehearsals, and when Derek glanced down, distracted, he _almost_ returned his smile. Stiles is still counting it as a victory.

There’s a soft, sentimental part of his being that glows when Derek’s near; the heartsore longing he feels when he sees Derek interacting with everyone else is making him weak. He wants to be part of that. He wants to be part of Derek’s life but more than anything, he wants Derek to _want_ him there. It’s no good if it isn’t coming from him, and Stiles feels sick at the idea of forcibly inserting himself into Derek’s world more than he already has.

He hadn’t expected to be sent away. He’d assumed that opening up the lines of communication again would be enough; maybe Derek would be willing to talk and Stiles could explain, but he was pretty stupid to think it’d all be that easy. Stiles doesn’t deserve any more than what he’s been given, if even that.

He hurt Derek, and asking him to let Stiles take it back is too much, no matter how great a person he is.

The jealousy surprises him most. Stiles hasn’t cared about anyone enough to feel jealous about them, well, _ever_ , but the silent brooding he’s taken to doing when Derek and Erica sit in a quiet corner of the auditorium, running lines between scenes, is making him weird. He’s getting broody and weird and it has to stop.

He takes a breath. “I... hurt someone.” It feels strange to say it out loud. He’s admitted it to himself, even to Lydia, but never more than simply implying it. “And I want to make it right, but they asked for space.” Before his dad can interject, he puts in, “I’ve given them that. I’ve tried to, anyway, but it’s not - I don’t want it to be over.”

“Is this the same person from the summer?”

“How did you know about that?” Stiles scowls, and dad sighs.

“You were barely home and vacuumed the jeep every weekend for a month; I know you weren’t doing that for Scott, because he wasn’t here.” His dad holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know the details - you’re eighteen now - but if it’s not the same person, then are you sure this isn’t some... what do they call it? Rebound?”

Stiles hides a smile. “It’s the same person. Guy. He’s.. I like him a lot, Dad.”

“Yet you hurt him.” It's weird that Dad saying it makes him a thousand times more disappointed in himself.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, so I thought it wouldn’t matter,” he excuses lamely. “But it turns out he goes to Devenford, and we’re seeing a lot of each other.”

“I see.”

“And he’s-- " Stiles lets out a breath. "I fucked up. Badly. And he asked for space and he deserves that, but I wanna make it right.”

Dad looks thoughtful. “For you or for him?”

“Huh?”

“Are you trying to make it right so that he’ll feel better, or so that you can win him back?”

Stiles sinks back into the seat. He hadn’t thought about it, but it’s pretty obvious.

“Both are valid reasons, if you’re serious,” Dad continues, “But you need to be upfront about it. Getting someone to trust you doesn’t work if you have a hidden agenda. If he knows you want him back, then his decision will be based on that - but if he thinks you’re giving him space and respecting his boundaries, only to then try to start something again, that’s deceitful.”

Stiles nods to his hands, thinking it over. “So I should tell him how I feel?”

Dad lifts his shoulder. “If he’s willing to hear it - but you have to be prepared for an outcome that doesn’t work out for you. The damage might already be done.”

There’s something behind his dad’s words, and Stiles’ mind instantly floats back to a time when he and Scott were convinced his mom and Stiles’ dad were working toward something, only for it to fizzle out. Stiles has spent a long time wondering if he was the cause of it - it was right after he was brought into the station by one of the deputies for the first time for public intoxication, and granted, his dad moving on had made him act out a little. The sheriff had handled it, but that was the start of things heading downhill for them. Stiles shut off more and more and dad just... stopped being surprised.

Stiles never found the courage to ask about it.

“Okay,” he says decisively. “That’s--thanks. Dad.”

Dad seems to puff up a little when he says it, but trains his eyes away again, nodding sagely. “Any time, kid. I told you.”

* * *

 

Paige zips up her jacket and checks her phone again.

“Sorry I can’t stay longer,” she says, “I’m supposed to be across town to give a lesson in twenty minutes.”

“It’s fine,” Derek waves off. “I can use the backing track - I’m just gonna run through it once more.”

She nods before pulling him into a hug. “You’ve got it nailed, I just think you need to kick the stage fright and _work on your projection_.”

Derek twists his mouth seriously. Their first musical rehearsal is tomorrow, and he’s starting to feel the first thrums of nerves threatening his composure. It was easy to sign up for this when his biggest concerns were auditioning and getting a part - but now he has _the_ part, he needs to confront his self-doubt before it rears its head in front of the rest of the cast.

“See you tomorrow,” Paige calls, heading for the door. “We can do coffee after?”

“Date,” Derek smiles, flipping through the lyric sheets again. The door shuts, echoing off the auditorium’s acoustics. The space is free for the evening since rehearsals are only held on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and the school orchestra isn’t using it today.

He mouths along with the words on the page, trying to commit them to memory. He’s got it down to only glancing once per verse, which is already better than a few days ago. Taking a breath, he scoots down the stage a little on his butt to the old MP3 dock that’s seen better days and opens up the playlist. It feels like he does better with the slower songs - a chance to think about the words and their emotions rather than just recite lyrics - and picks one he’s become oddly connected to. The lilt of Hawaiian guitars comes through the speakers, and he picks a spot at the back of the room to focus on, targeting his voice toward it.

Hopelessly Devoted could be a song from any context, any time, and it’s not lost on him how appropriate it’s become to his own life. He knows the feeling of foolishness, of self-reproach that come from falling for the wrong person. His head and his heart are at odds, urging him at once to forget about what he had and cling to it desperately, when there could still be a chance to get it back. But if he did, he’d be an idiot to fall into that trap again.

The slideshow starts up anew when his eyes slip shut. His character wants to be free, and Derek thought he did too, but now...

He closes his fist, making the emotion carry his voice as far as he can send it. The notes swell and Derek’s stomach clenches, feeling a burn behind his eyelids when he gives in to the raw sentiment.

As the music fades, he slumps the final notes out of his lungs and opens his eyes. He’s half sure he’s somehow imagining it when Stiles is standing in the aisle, a headset around his neck and a look of devastation on his face.

"Holy shit," Stiles chuckles disbelievingly.

Derek jerks when he realizes it’s real, fumbling for the button on the dock in shame and scrambling back to stand up.

“Don’t--” Stiles pleads, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. Derek glances at him as he powers off the speakers and he drops it. “Don’t go.”

“I thought I was alone,” Derek excuses lamely. His hands are shaking with nerves and embarrassment, remembering the tone of Stiles’ voice from the first day of school. “I wouldn’t have been--when did you get here?”

“I was in the prop room, trying to sync up the earpieces. I thought I heard music earlier, but I didn’t realize you were...” He watches Stiles swallow. “That was really... beautiful.”

Derek’s ears grow hot. “Sure, well, I didn’t know anyone was listening, so...”

“Seriously. I can see why you got the part.”

Derek clenches his jaw, pulling out the ipod and pocketing it. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, making him look up. “I mean it. No angles, you just--You always manage to surprise me.”

“You too,” Derek sighs with frustration. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“I was hoping to talk to you. Maybe tomorrow, but you’re here now, so...” He licks his lips.“Can I?”

When Derek doesn’t move to leave, held in place by his own stupid curiosity, Stiles glances down to gather his words.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I messed up so bad, and I tried to pretend I didn’t care, but I do. You’re all I think about. I can’t get you out of my head and it’s driving me--” He swallows. “Do you think you could forgive me? For hurting you?”

“Which time?” Derek asks accusingly, his stupid heart speeding up with hope despite his hurt. “The time I heard you telling your ex about what a naive dumbass I was, or when you cut me out of your life without an explanation or a goodbye?”

Stiles winces, but holds eye contact. “Every time. That time on the quad, I--I was trying to get over you, and I guess kidding myself that what happened with us was just some summer thing was my way of dealing with that. I thought if I acted like it enough, I’d start to feel like it, but... If I could take it back, I would.” His face contorts in anger. “I keep thinking about it and I wanna kick myself because the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. Make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you did.”

Derek snorts, hopping down to stand on the main floor. “Obviously, right. That’s why one day you’re kissing me at sunset and telling me about the stars and the next I hear you’ve quit your job and I didn’t even get your last name. You stop returning my texts and you just... disappear. And it’s pathetic, but I fell apart for a while and you’re just - It’s barely affected you.”

“That’s _not_ true,” Stiles argues.

“We haven’t talked!” Derek snaps, voice rising.

“You wanted space.”

“I didn’t think you’d really _give_ it to me,” Derek admits, his breath knocking the force from his words. He gulps at the realization. “Tell me I 'mattered', Stiles, explain that one.”

“I couldn’t say goodbye.”

Stiles’ voice is a croak. It’s so quiet that if they weren’t in an auditorium, Derek would have strained to hear it, but it’s there. When Stiles looks at him, it’s with such an unrestrained expression of vulnerability that it stops Derek from refuting it. He just stares as Stiles sucks in a breath, eyes closing extendedly and opening again to hold him to the earth.

“I was falling for you and I never meant to and I can’t--Goodbyes aren’t--I _couldn’t._ ” The noise he ends with could be a sob, and Derek’s brow creases at it, stepping closer.

“It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he tells him. “We could have--”

“What? Continued? Kept sneaking around until college when you didn’t have to worry about your family finding out?”

“I _never_ wanted to keep you a secret,” Derek bites back. There isn’t heat behind it; he can’t muster that right now.

Stiles shrugs defeatedly. “You have a future, Derek. A whole life where I don’t really fit in. Around you, I’m different. I _feel_ different, but the rest of the time I’m not--” He shakes his head and organizes his thoughts. “I don’t make things better. I break things and I hurt people and you deserve more than me, and... the person you fell for, that’s not who I really am. I wish it was, but it isn’t.”

“Right,” Derek says skeptically. “Seems like a week ago, you were fine with who you are. What happened to make you suddenly want to tell me all this?”

Stiles swallows guiltily. “What happened is I realized I can’t do _this_. I can’t be so close to you and yet... I wanna try to be that other guy always, for you, because when you’re around I feel like maybe I _can._ ”

Derek’s head is spinning. He’s spent so much time thinking about the different facets of Stiles he’s seen, but he never dreamed that Stiles would acknowledge them, let alone want to be the one he fell for. His breath comes short and he steps closer, studying Stiles’ face.

“I think... I think how I feel about you makes me want to believe too much, but...” He decides to lay it out. “Stiles, when someone’s important to you, you can’t just treat them like shit and expect to be forgiven. You say I’m important, but everything else tells me I’m just the latest in a long line of distractions for you. You’re not different with me - you’re the same, deep down, and you’re not gonna find some magic change. You’ll go back to who you are, and I don’t know who that is anymore.”

“I want prove it - that I can be different, for you,” Stiles says imploringly. “I could--Could I show you? Would you let me do that?”

Derek surveys his open expression. It feels like a familiar, warm place, getting lost in Stiles’ eyes again. He wants to give in so badly that he has to make a conscious effort not to fold right away.

He sighs. “What do you mean?”

“I wanna take you out. Make you fall for me all over again. Just because I act like a dick doesn’t mean everything I’ve ever told you was bullshit.”

“You want to what, woo me?” Derek snorts.

Stiles’ features crease into a grin and he nods once. “I want to woo you.”

Derek shakes his head, turning away so the full force of the smile threatening his poker-face isn’t directed at Stiles. His heart’s speeding up at the thought of it, and they haven’t even made any _plans_ yet.

“Jesus Christ.”

Stiles dips his chin, eagerly following his eyeline. “That a no?”

“No,” Derek says, grinning as soon as he stops forcing his mouth into an even line. He glances back at Stiles’ look of hope. _Fuck_ him for being cute right now.

“No it’s not a no, or no?”

Derek turns to him frustratedly, tilting his palms up. “Fine. You can... woo me, or whatever. Happy?”

Stiles beams. It’s like a spotlight over his entire face. He reaches across and gently twines his fingers with Derek’s, letting the tiniest of touches bind them in a promise.

“Not yet,” he says, “but I will be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHUT UP??? A HAPPY ENDING??


	6. You Better Prove That My Faith Is Justified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a second first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOVEANDALLTHAT7 IS GREAT

 

Derek is waiting for Stiles in the coffeehouse, looking completely out of place in his dry-clean-only clothes by the time he pulls up. The Jeep clunks as he ambles into the parking spot. taking a second to just sit and watch the guy through the window. He’s positioned in a booth facing the door. Derek glances around nervously, makes a show of reading the handwritten price list above the counter and then checks his phone.

It’s odd, seeing him in a location right out of Stiles’ everyday life. It’s not like Stiles ever _thought_ about it, but the box Derek fits into has always been backdropped by balmy summer evenings, twilit skies and the affluence of a country club or a cafe that charges eighteen dollars for a salad. Here, in downtown Beacon Hills, Derek stands out like an immaculately-dressed cutting from a magazine; he makes the place more interesting with his mere aesthetic, but it’s clear he doesn’t belong among the worn suede seating and chipped table tops.

Stiles takes a breath and hops out of the Jeep. The smell of burnt coffee assaults him as soon as he swings the door open and the adrenaline surge when Derek turns to see his arrival feels like an espresso shot right to his veins. He musters a half-smile, ambling to the counter to order an Americano. He thumbs through the leaflets stacked on the counter so his hands have something to do.

Feeling Derek’s eyes on him from behind, he touches his hair again. The scrutiny is like a weight he can’t shake and it makes another wave of nerves crest in his stomach.

He came.

Stiles wasn’t sure he actually would. He knows he probably doesn’t deserve another chance - in Derek’s position, Stiles knows he would never have given one - and the fact that this entire night hinges on that makes it more important than ever.

And Stiles is late.

“You’re late,” Derek comments when he gets to the table. Stiles offers a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. Car trouble - you know how she is.”

Derek grunts noncommittally.

In truth, he would have been on time if he hadn’t been having an asinine freak-out over his hair. He’d styled it carefully, only then thinking on Derek’s penchant for getting his hands in it, then taken a second shower to get rid of the product. It looked like shit after that, but he’d made an effort to do _something_ with it, because the guy he happens to be taking out tonight is underwear-model perfect, and he deserves a date who doesn’t look like he’d been dragged backwards through a thorn bush. It might be foolish hope that makes him believe that Derek will let him close enough to actually be touched, but Stiles is kind of the king of living in denial these days.

Derek is wearing pristine converse and a woolen duffle coat. He smells like expensive cologne and the shirt he’s wearing enhances the green of his eyes, even in the dull mood-lighting. He looks like the brooding anti-hero of a Young Adult novel; Stiles isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it.

“Not having coffee?” Stiles asks, nodding to the mug by Derek’s elbow. It has a tag resting over the side, and the contents are the color of seaweed.

“Green tea. Supposed to be getting back on a training regimen.”

“Oh,” Stiles croaks, stilling slightly as he gets comfortable. “Guessing pasta is out of the question?”

Derek twists his mouth. “I shouldn’t.”

They’d bonded over a love of junk food and heart-attack fodder. That was one of the first _real_ things Stiles had learned about Derek, and he was sure it was a guaranteed ice-breaker. He’d kind of been banking on it, in fact.

“No point in trying to lead you astray?” he asks hopefully, throwing in a smirk. Derek looks to it and down, lifting a shoulder. He doesn’t respond. Stiles can’t help but notice that he’s the one asking all the questions right now, and it’s not like Derek’s _avoiding_ them, but it is a little like pulling blood from a stone or getting dirt on the lacrosse team from Scott. Before, they’d bounced off each other effortlessly, tossing flirty-banter between them until one or the other cracked. This is... stiff.

“We could get sushi?” Stiles offers. Derek seems a little surprised that he isn’t pushing things, but he’d told himself that tonight is all about Derek, and if his date has a plan to stick to, Stiles will respect it.

“Sure,” Derek says after a moment. “Know a place?”

Stiles sucks on his lip. “You’re aware I’m more of a double cheeseburger and curly fries guy,” he reminds self-deprecatingly. “But we can look one up?”

“Okay,” Derek concedes, mouth turned down at the corners. Once, Stiles made fun of him for his constant sour expression. That feels like a lifetime ago right now, swept away with the cooler breezes and the browning leaves on the trees.

Stiles’ phone slides in his clammy grip, and Derek sips at his tea patiently while he does the most basic of searches. The majority of the sit-in sushi joints are in Derek’s part of town, but there’s one a little closer-by. He’d suggested meeting in public to give Derek a chance to back out if he really wanted to, and also because this is supposed to be a fresh start, and he’d thought that inviting the guy into his own territory might make a good statement. It seems kind of stupid now.

“There’s one a few blocks away,” he comments, glancing up. “Not many reviews, but we won’t know for sure until we try, right?”

“Guess not,” Derek replies.

“We can head over after these,” he decides, lifting his coffee and inhaling the steam. It already feels like he’s falling behind on his plans, and it’s a struggle to catch up to himself. He needs to kill a little time before getting the text from Scott, and had kind of been banking on distracting Derek with ravioli and gelato until it came. Right now, the prospect of sitting with him through a meal seems pretty daunting; Derek is cautious and guarded, and though Stiles had seen the smile he’d tried to hide when he proposed the date, it looks like the day-and-a-half since then has given Derek plenty of time to think. The outcome isn’t looking good.

“Heard you’re on the swim team. How’s that going?”

“Same as always,” Derek shrugs. At Stiles’ raised brow, he clarifies. “I first joined in freshmen year.”

“Oh. I thought lacrosse was your thing?”

“It is. Need something to do in the offseason, and it’s more likely that I’ll get a lacrosse scholarship in the long run.”

“About that,” Stiles muses, sipping at his coffee. “What does someone like you need a scholarship for? I thought a year’s tuition would be pocket change.”

Derek casts his eyes away, frowning slightly. “It’s complicated,” he says, and that seems to be it.

Stiles studies his cup. The sinking feeling in his stomach has been gradually getting heavier as the evening wears on, and now, he feels like he can’t utter a single sentence without shoving his foot in his mouth. He downs the rest of his coffee, wincing at the pain and stands up.

“Might as well get going, then.”

Derek raises a brow, looking pointedly at his half-full mug, then sighs. “Okay.”

* * *

The silence becomes too much even for Derek, and the sight of Stiles dejectedly poking at his food spurs him into breaking it.

“How is it?”

Stiles startles out of his thoughts and throws in a shrug, the leather of his hooded jacket creaking with the movement like Stiles isn’t loud and distracting enough all on his own, even silent.

“‘s okay. Yours?”

Derek pops another roll in his mouth and chews, wincing as he swallows. “It’s... kind of terrible.”

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Stiles slumps. “I thought you were totally into it and I was gonna have to fake a love of sushi for the rest of my life.”

“Hey, it’s just _this_ place. This is not an accurate representation of all sushi.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, just because our cheap-ass downtown restaurants don’t match up to your Michelin Man--”

“Michelin _star._ ”

“What?”

“Michelin star is the award given to fine-dining restaurants. Michelin Man is the puffy tire guy.”

“Whoa, okay, I didn’t know you were gonna pull the breeding card on me,” Stiles mocks, lips jumping in a smile. His eyes are lit up for the first time all evening, and Derek feels that betraying little _swoosh_ in his stomach, all awkwardness fading.

It’s not like he was _purposefully_ trying to make things weird, he just... The moment when he’d agreed to go out with Stiles, he’d been all caught up on the high of being around him. Without the distraction of watching Stiles’ mouth move or his hands gesture around in the air or _those fucking eyes_ , hesitance had started to creep in. Cora had followed him from room to room, fruitlessly demanding to know what had him so worked-up - if worked-up was the name for feeling like he wanted to cancel but also like the night couldn’t get there fast enough simultaneously.

It turned to full-on doubt and morphed into self-flagellation with every minute Stiles was late.

And yeah, he’s been making an effort since he got here... but it’s not like they can just pick up where they left off. Derek knows too much now. Stiles can’t act like everything’s the same when the memory of how different he can be is so fresh.

But shit, he’s charming. Hot, painfully honest, endearingly awkward, and _really_ fucking charming.

Derek scrunches his brow. “Well if you’re gonna give me crap about something, at least do it right.”

“ _Asshole,”_ Stiles mutters fondly, taking a gulp of his juice. It’s the most healthy - or least terribly - Derek has ever seen him eat; one of the most memorable quotes from summer was when he’d made an innuendo about only liking eggplants and Derek had blushed so hard he actually choked.

“Hey,” Derek says in a low voice. Stiles’ eyes go soft. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Dude, _yes,_ ” he gushes in response. “But... aren’t you starving?”

“McDonalds do salads, don’t they?”

“Oh my god, you let me sit through this when we could have hit up the drive-through?”

“To be fair, this was your idea, and I’ll probably still have to do a couple extra reps to make up for whatever it is they put on their salads to make them taste decent.”

“Mmngh,” Stiles groans. “Talk gym to me, babe.”

Derek chucks a napkin at him, flushing. “Shut _up._ If we leave now, I might actually put up with you getting a milkshake and scaring wildlife away with whatever it is you do to make so much noise with a straw.”

“That was _once,_ and it was because you weren’t paying enough attention to me.”

“You insisted we go down by the boardwalk to feed the seagulls and then _ignored_ the seagulls.”

“I wanted to make out,” Stiles shrugs. “You’re shitty at reading signals.”

Derek huffs. “You could have just said _hey, let’s go make out on the boardwalk_. I’d have been game.”

“Duly noted.” Stiles smirks, standing up. He reaches a hand out reflexively to help Derek out of the cramped seating, and for this long second, it just hovers there, in the air, like he hadn’t meant to do it but taking it back now would be too obvious. Derek swallows and takes the offering, not missing the way Stiles’ fingers close safely around his, and squeeze in silent gratitude.

It’s easier after that. The short trip to the drive-through is filled with reminiscing and private smiles, and after they’ve ordered from the bored-sounding attendant, Stiles hugs his McNuggets close, declaring that Derek made his choice, and he now has to live with it. The smell of processed fast food makes his stomach grumble, but before he even reaches in to retrieve his measly salad, Stiles’ phone lights up with a text and he’s switching the gear stick.

“What are you doing?” Derek frowns, turning back for his seatbelt. Stiles has a determined look on his face as he glances in the rear-view mirror, and seems instantly more animated than before he read the text. There’s a split-second where strange wainess is creeping up in Derek’s chest, that something bad is about to happen and the last couple hours were just some prank, but he properly glimpses the open, excited smile on Stiles’ face, and his doubts melt away.

“It’s a surprise. I’ve been waiting for the go-ahead, and I just got it.”

Derek shoots him a suspicious look. “It’s nothing illegal, right?”

“It depends on how rigidly you define the term ‘illegal’,’” Stiles teases, wrinkling his nose.

“Stiles.”

“Relax, okay? We’re not gonna get in any trouble. New leaf, remember?”

Derek sighs, watching the street signs pass for any indication of where they’re headed, but gets none. “Fine, I trust you,” he mutters, and if possible, Stiles’ grin grows wider.

_

Derek’s face must be the picture of dubiousness when Stiles indicates into an empty parking lot. The light above the building's sign is still switched on, but the place is otherwise cast in darkness, and all _that_ does is confuse him further. A shadowed figure is leaning by the only entrance, dirtbike helmet in hand. He straightens up as the jeep pulls to a stop, raising his brows in greeting.

“What are we doing here?” Derek asks, eyes fixed on the building. “Isn’t that your friend?”

“Don’t worry, Scotty’s just our in. He’s leaving right away.”

Derek fixes him with an exasperated look. “Not what I was concerned about.”

To that, Stiles simply smiles secretively and hops out of the driver’s side. He jogs up to his friend. A short conversation takes place, in which Scott McCall makes a lot of decisive hand gestures and head-shakes. Stiles nods innocently, and after a moment, Scott pulls him in for a bro-hug before pulling back to send Derek a thumbs-up. It’s probably really rude, but Derek’s too perplexed to do anything but scowl back at him, and then the guy is revving the engine of his bike and peeling out of the parking lot.

Stiles is back at the jeep when he drags his attention away, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. Derek rolls down the window. “What’s going on?”

“I told you - phase two of The Perfect Date. Scott works here at weekends and he kind of owes me one right now, so I convinced him to disappear so we could get some privacy.”

Derek raises a brow. “ _Here?_ ”

“Stop being a total Chuckie Finster and get out of the car.”

Derek looks at the sign, then back to Stiles, this possibly-unhinged, gorgeous boy who’s looking at him with these big, trustworthy eyes, and lets out a breath. He reaches for the handle.

“Fine.”

* * *

The familiar smell of animal feed and antiseptic greets them when Stiles ushers Derek inside. He steps in gingerly, like he’s waiting for someone to jump out at him from behind the desk or something. Stiles looks to the ceiling for strength.

“Relax, will you? This place is dead on Friday nights. Scott’s basically here for babysitting duty and to answer the phone in case there’s an emergency. Calls are diverted, see?” He points to the red light glowing faintly from the phone as if it’s proof. Derek eyes it like this is all some weird prank.

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing at an animal clinic after hours,” he points out. Stiles jerks his head over his shoulder, encouraging him to follow through the exam room.

“It’s not _just_ an animal clinic. Deaton takes in strays and unwanted litters for re-homing or while they find fosters.” He pushes open the door and a distressed mewling starts up from inside as the inhabitants go on the alert. Derek halts in the threshold, glancing into the room beyond. “You told me how much it sucked when you had to give your dog away, and I figured that if your stepdad’s allergic, you probably don’t get much puppy time anymore.” He picks up a rubber bone and squeaks it and in doing so, elicits a chorus of excited little yips from one of the nursery cages. Seems like he just woke up the pack. Stiles crouches down and unlocks the front, letting three six-week-old German shepherd mutts spill out excitedly, little stubby tails twitching as they clamber over Stiles’ legs and feet.

Derek’s face does this _thing_ where it goes completely soft and pained. He slumps forward to his knees, reaches out and lets one of the puppies stumble over for a curious sniff.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. The puppy rears up on its hind legs, tiny paws weaving out like the most adorable kung-fu pose before it falls on to all fours again. Derek stares like he’s just been handed everything he’s ever wanted at once and doesn’t know what to do with it. “ _Hi._ ”

“Their mom didn’t make it, so Deaton’s finding them homes for they’re old enough to be away from each other.”

Derek scoops up the puppy in front of him and cradles it close. He sucks in an endearing little gasp when the puppy latches on to his finger, half-gnawing, half-suckling. It looks so small and safe in his hands, its little feet writhing around in the air as he dips his chin down and nuzzles at the soft fluff on the scruff of its neck. Stiles’ heart does somersaults.

“You’re so tiny,” Derek says reverently. “Holy shit.”

“They’re a little underweight,” Stiles explains. “Scott says there’s no substitute for their actual mom, but they’re hitting their... progress targets? Is that what they’re called? Regular feeding. Tons of naps and playtime. I’m kinda jealous.”

Derek grins as the little one wriggles, loses balance in his hand and then it squeaks as he rights it.

“So, yeah,” Stiles croaks, “it’s probably not completely above-board that we’re here, but.. _puppies_ , so...”

He glances up, seeming to remember that Stiles is even there. In a decisive movement, Derek rises to his feet, puppy in hand, stalking forward. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he reaches out to touch Stiles’ jaw and and pulls him close, slotting their lips together.

It’s been too _long._ Stiles freezes in surprise, but then he's surging into the kiss, giving back for all he’s worth. Derek’s just as gentle and sweet at it as he remembers, but there’s a hint of more resting beneath the surface. When Stiles tilts his head, Derek inhales deeply through his nose and sucks his bottom lip between his own, nipping gently at it with enough of a tease to make Stiles press ever forward, wrapping his palm around the back of Derek’s neck.

That moment when Derek takes control is when everything settles. Sure, Stiles’ insides feel like there’s some part of him threatening to float away on pure elation, but the relief when all the night’s dread and nervous energy crumbles away has him relaxing into the touch and leaning on it. A weight is lifted.

Derek pulls away for breath before closing the distance again and slipping his tongue inside, touching Stiles’ own with maddening tenderness. His muscles turn to jelly, his mind blank and he just stands there and gets kissed by the only person he can imagine ever wanting to kiss.

Before long, the squirming between them becomes a whine of protest, and Derek pulls back with a start to check on the complaining ball of fluff that was trapped between their chests.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he tells the dog, because _of course_ Derek talks to baby animals. Like there was any scenario where this wouldn’t make Stiles fall for him even more.

Stiles huffs out a laugh and pets the little guy between the ears, grinning widely when it tries to snap at his finger like the least ferocious predator in the world.

“Should they be here alone?” Derek asks in all seriousness, giving one of its paws a gentle tug. He sounds so concerned that Stiles tries to hide his smile.

“They’re why Scott’s pulling late shifts. Foster family had an emergency, so he leaves late and comes by early to check on ‘em. They’re fine, don’t worry. They’re tough little dudes. Future police dogs, maybe.”

The other puppies are milling around their feet, getting acquainted with Stiles’ shoelaces and the discarded squeaky toy in the middle of the floor. Stiles laughs down at them, but when he looks up, Derek’s only watching him.

“This is--I--Thank you,” he says quietly. He presses another sweet kiss to Stiles’ lips and rests their foreheads together, his voice betraying the meaning behind his words.

“Just wanted it to be special,” Stiles shrugs. “You deserve special.”

* * *

Sitting behind the reception of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic while Stiles eats cold McNuggets from a bag in front of him isn’t anything Derek predicted when he agreed to come out tonight. They’d played with the dogs until their little eyes started to droop, then checked out the other boarders before Stiles’ stomach began to protest loudly. Derek wishes more than anything that he could be the one to give one of them a home, but it’s not like he can do much.

He forks through his salad, aware that he has a soft grin on his face brought on partly from the contented swing of Stiles’ feet where they’re dangling off the desk opposite. His toes twitch in time with the music streaming gently from the laptop beside him as he rambles.

“...took some convincing, but Scott’s a die-hard romantic at heart. What?”

Derek raises his brows in question.

Stiles gestures to his own face. “You have this look.’

“I’m happy,” Derek shrugs. “You make me happy.”

Stiles sucks a thumb into his mouth and huffs. “That’s not a sentence I thought I’d be hearing a few days ago.” He looks up, shy. “I... like making you happy.”

“You’re good at it, when you’re not being an ass.”

“I’m good at that, too,” Stiles mutters.

Derek takes another mouthful and chews thoughtfully. “You don’t need to be like that, you know. I already told you - the world isn’t gonna implode if people find out you’re a good person.”

“But it _will,_ ” Stiles retorts, mock-serious. “Fuck, Derek, what have I done? Don’t tell anyone.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, and the guy laughs.

“I know, okay? It’s just.. reflex, I guess.”

“I’ve been led to believe you weren’t always like that.”

Stiles eyes him speculatively. “Been listening to Erica? We’re not close, okay? Run in the same circles. Dated some of the same people. Kind of share the same sense of humor, but she doesn’t really _know_ me. She just likes to gossip.”

“Same with Allison Argent?” Derek counters. Stiles goes still.

“You know Allison?” he croaks.

“We have homeroom together.”

“She hates me.”

“I didn’t get that impression. Seemed like she was just disappointed in you.”

The statement is more of a leading question than anything else. Derek looks innocently down at his food until Stiles lets out a sigh, putting the paper bag to the side.

“Allison dated Scott for a long time,” he begins. “They were kinda your perfect high-school-movie couple, but Scott and I have always been close, and we kind of have this… partners-in-crime dynamic? Started back in the playground, when we were the first to reach the top of the jungle gym because we helped each other get a leg up. We ruled that spot for an entire week until Lydia decided she wanted it.” He smiles reflectively.

Derek feels a strange tug of _something_ in the way Stiles talks about Lydia Martin - like there’s a respect there that probably won’t ever go away. It’s not something he thinks he should be jealous of, but knowing there’s a bond there that he doesn’t quite understand makes him fixate on it. She’s the only one of Stiles’ former partners that he seems to really care about.

“Apart from my Dad, Scott’s been the one constant in my life for as long as I can remember... but even he took a step back when I started getting in more serious trouble.” Derek raises a brow, so Stiles lets out a breath and specifies, “Vandalism, taking a police cruiser for a joyride... selling weed to the burnouts because I owed my dealer... your classic ‘anti-social behavior’, I guess they called it.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway. Allison had a problem with how Scott acted when I was around. Said he lost IQ points or something, I don’t know - I haven’t known him any other way, he seems the same old Scott to me. But any time I got in trouble for something, Scott would get called in by the principal or whoever because he folds under interrogation and they’d assume he was involved, even if he wasn’t.” He shrugs. “Even Allison had a hard time believing him in the end, or she got tired of having to constantly having to defend him to her parents and stuff, I don’t know. They broke up at the end of junior year. She hates me.”

Derek stares back at him, scandalized. “How are you not in _jail?_ ”

Stiles snorts ruefully. “Probably should have been. I know my dad seriously thought about just turning me in and letting the system deal with me, but… he never did. I’m not very popular with his deputies these days, though.”

“Wait, deputies?” Derek asks, frowning, “Your dad’s the _sheriff?_ ”

Stiles raises a brow. “I thought you knew?”

Derek drops the plastic fork into the bowl and leans back, shaking his head. “No, I... wait. When you said you were at the country club under suggestion of the ‘sheriff’s department’, you meant--”

“My dad got me the gig there to keep me out of trouble. One of his judge-buddies is a member,” Stiles smirks. “The other way sounded more badass, though.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Sheriff _Stilinski_. No wonder I thought your name sounded familiar.”

“Oh shit, you know my dad?” Stiles groans. “Of course you do.”

“Not personally. My mom knows him. and I’ve heard the name around, but.” Derek swallows with a haunted look. “Oh god, your dad’s the _sheriff..._ ”

Stiles holds his palms up. “We’ve… established this.”

“No, I mean he owns _firearms_ and... I can’t lie to authority figures.”

“You’re assuming you’ll ever get to meet the old man,” Stiles teases, folding his arms. “And why are you hypothetically lying to my father? Jumping ahead a little?”

“You planned the perfect date involving puppies. I mentioned _once_ a month ago that I missed my dog and you did all this.” Derek looks at him contemplatively. “You like me.”

“You’re okay,” Stiles allows.

Derek scoots the chair forward until he’s bracketed in by Stiles’ knees. He rests his bowl, then his palms on the desk and stares up at him; mouth curling, chin defiant. “You _like_ me.”

Stiles’ breath hitches. He wets his lips. “Yeah. I kinda do.”

Then he’s leaning forward and kissing Derek, tipping so far to do it that he has to balance a toe on the ground. Derek hesitantly cups his hand to Stiles’ cheek, letting his fingertips trace his hairline, his ear before tugging on the messy tufts like he’s been dying to all night. Stiles grunts - almost sighs - at the touch, and Derek smiles against his lips, opening up when Stiles touches his tongue to the seam of his mouth. It heats up then, and before long, the hand braced on the armrest of the chair is on the back, and Stiles is climbing into Derek’s lap for better access. The music swells in the background, and Stiles shifts in his position. Derek gasps and buries his face in Stiles’ neck, mouthing at the skin under his jaw in increasing desperation, needing to get closer.

His hand somehow finds its way beneath the layers of shirts, raking his fingers over Stiles’ back and feeling each indent and beauty mark he knows is there, remembers. Kissing Stiles feels like stepping into a beloved memory; it makes his heart race and his stomach curl in warmth at the sensation of having his body against his own. Heat spreads over him, and he hardens as Stiles moves, ratcheting up his breathing and making his eyes slip shut to savor it.

Stiles curses into his hair. His hands tighten on Derek’s shoulders with the next grind, but Derek stills his hips, keeping his head at the last second.

“S-stop,” he breathes. “Stiles.”

The sound of his name seems to pull Stiles back to the moment, and he sighs softly into the crown of Derek’s head.

“Slow,” he croaks, seeming to remind himself. “Right. Sorry, I - I forgot.”

“Me too,” Derek huffs. “I just need--”

“You dont have to explain,” Stiles interrupts, pulling back. He holds his hands up innocently, but his cheeks are flushed and Derek can feel the evidence of what they were just doing pressing against his thigh, hot and tempting. “We agreed and... I’m still on probation, I guess, so--”

“I want to,” Derek confesses. He presses his nose to Stiles’ collar and breathes him in, and can feel the shiver the guy’s trying to suppress where he’s still got his hands on him. “I _really_ want to, but this is still new and...”

“Its _fine._ ” Stiles dips his chin to hold eye contact. “I can wait. When.. _if_ you decide, it’ll be on your terms, okay? I want it to be. I meant that when I told you before. No bullshit.”

Derek swallows as he nods, flushing at the weight of the statement. _If._

“And you were always giving _me_ crap for being the secret romantic,” he smirks.

“Oh, you definitely are,” Stiles snorts, standing up. He buries a hand in his hair to smooth it out and steps back, putting space between them like he _needs_ to. The thought alone is so much of a turn-on, it’s probably for the best. Derek feels gravitated toward him enough as it is, and his hands physically clench on his lap when the warmth leaves him - control is on a knife-edge.

Stiles subtly adjusts himself and turns to trash the wrappings of his food, grinning over his shoulder as he does. Derek forces a steadying breath.

“Is it so bad?” he asks nervously. Stiles stills. “Wanting… that?”

“No,” he replies, turning. “The way you talk about your parents, it’s… I love that you want that for yourself. That that’s the goal for you.”

“They weren’t perfect,” Derek muses. He stares at the desk until Stiles cuts into his eyeline again. “I know they weren’t, but I’ve seen the alternative, and it’s... sad.”

“Your stepdad?”

Derek lets out a breath. “My dad - my real dad - was one of my favorite people. When my mom got too serious or wrapped up in things, he was the only person who could snap her out of it. He was just... _good_. Everyone he met liked him, and even though he didn’t grow up with much, he worked hard to put himself through school and become a lawyer. He always said meeting my mom at law school was his greatest success.”

Stiles mirrors the bittersweet smile he wears. “Sounds like a great guy.”

Derek nods. “He was, but before he died, he made some bad decisions. Financially.” He looks up and sees Stiles waiting patiently for him to explain. “My family’s money is old, and I guess he thought new investments would help sustain it, so that me and my sisters would have something to inherit after my mom’s father sold off our company. Mom's specialty is environmental law - she likes feeling like she can undo some of the damage Hale Aquaculture and Fisheries did, and the idea that she could get out from the shadow of that permanently was probably amazing." Derek lifts a shoulder. "She had no reason to go against it, and I don’t know if Dad got bad advice or... he was too trusting. My mom says I get that from him, but from what I understand, all that was left after he died was a mountain of debt and the Hale family name.”

“I had no idea.”

“Nobody does,” Derek shrugs, but realizes in that moment that he might have said too much - even Paige doesn’t know the full story. He clamps his mouth shut. Stiles seems to catch on.

“Whoa, hey - nobody’s gonna hear any of this from me. You think I’m stupid? I just got you talking to me again.”

Derek’s relief manifests in a grateful nod. “The only reason I know is because my weird uncle got drunk at Thanksgiving and told me and Laura.” He straightens in the chair, pushing himself back a little with his feet. “I think we got by on savings and the life insurance money for a few years, but then my mom met Richard. He came from nothing - just like my dad - but he’s... ambitious. Dad was never motivated by status or power or whatever. He just wanted us to never be denied anything. Richard made the money, but I guess because he’s such an asshole, he had trouble breaking into the country club crowd. Even fake people can sniff out a dud.”

“So your mom married him?” Stiles frowns, “For his money? And… he got to be associated with your family.” He sucks on his lip pensively after he makes the deduction.

“Life works differently for people like us,” Derek says, feeling defensive. “She’s known nothing else her whole life. She’s a good person, I think she was just... scared. My sister was about to go off to college and Laura didn't even know she’d need to _apply_ for loans. My uncle's in and out of rehab or blowing his money on god knows what, so he isn't any help. I guess Mom wanted to protect us from worrying about it.”

“Thats why you want a scholarship,” Stiles realizes. “You don’t want him to pay.”

Derek grits his teeth. “I don’t want to owe him anything. He’s constantly making veiled digs about how _he’s_ the reason we get to keep our house, the cars, whatever. I refuse to give him another reason to own me.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

Derek’s lips turn down. “He thinks he does. I can’t stand him. I dont even think my Mom can. Cora knows something’s up, but she’s still a kid. She doesn't need to know about this stuff.”

“You don’t either,” Stiles tells him. “Look, whatever your mom’s reasons, even if I don’t totally understand them... I don’t think she’d want you worrying about this.”

“I can’t really help it,” Derek mumbles. “I get that from her.”

Stiles offers a fond smile. “I’m... I’m so sorry you have to deal with that.”

“First world problems, huh?” Derek snorts. “It’s stupid. I just--I know my parents’ relationship wasn’t perfect, but looking at the alterative... They made each other laugh. Always had time for one another. Genuinely liked being together. It's more import than it seems.”

“I get it,” Stiles nods. “There’s no point in having everything if you don’t have each other.”

“The idea of... of _faking_ all the time is just--I don’t know how they do that.”

Stiles raises his brows, about to reply, when there’s a gap in the playlist. He frowns. “What’s that buzzing?”

Derek jerks, realizing at once that it’s coming from his jacket, still draped over one of the waiting room chairs.

“Shit,” he blurts. “What time is it?” As he says it, he turns to the monitor, realizing it’s 12:45. He’s late for curfew. “ _Shit!_ ”

“What?” Stiles asks, spinning to watch him as he digs out his phone.

_3 missed calls from: MOM_

_6 missed calls from: REED_

_3 new voicemails_

 

“I was supposed to be home almost an hour ago,” he says, shrugging his jacket on hurriedly. He dials back Reed’s number and presses the phone to his ear.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Stiles says, stepping around the desk. “I can drop you-”

“Hey, Reed?” Derek asks when the driver picks up.

“You’ve put me in a _lot_ of shit, Derek.”

“Yeah, I know, I spaced. Phone was on vibrate. I’m at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.”

“ _Where?_ ”

“Just put it in the GPS,” Derek sighs.“I’ll be out front.”

“Fine,” Reed grumbles, “But you’re dealing with your mom.” The line goes dead.

“Who was that?” Stiles asks when he pockets the phone. His expression is a mix of confused and disappointed, and Derek feels pulled in two directions; the need to leave and the desire to stay bisecting him.

“My mom’s driver,” he says, stepping back. Before Stiles can even draw breath, he holds up a finger. “Shut _up._ ”

“I didn’t say anything,” Stiles smirks. Derek rolls his eyes.

“It’s better for everyone if she doesn’t get behind the wheel. I just borrowed him for tonight because she wouldn’t let me take the Camaro.”

“Afraid it’d get jacked?” Stiles teases. Derek feels his face heat up. “Oh my _god -_ it’s downtown Beacon Hills, not The Bronx.”

“Tell that to her,” Derek shrugs, just as the room fills up with headlights. He looks over his shoulder. “That’s Reed, I better...”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, gesturing behind himself. “I’m gonna clean up and let Scott know it’s safe to come back, so… yeah.”

The car honks. Derek turns fully. “Okay, get home safe?”

“Sure,” is Stiles’ reply. “Though clearly you will, with Arthur Pennyworth out there...”

Derek freezes with a hand on the door and can’t help but smile. Ten seconds - he can do ten seconds.

Ten seconds is all it takes to vault back to the desk, grab Stiles by his stupid hipster plaid shirt and plant a kiss on him that winds him more than the wooden surface pressing into Derek’s diaphragm. It’s all teeth until Stiles tilts his chin and yeah... that’s perfect. It melts into this soft, safe thing full of promise. Derek pulls back with a smile, watching Stiles’ eyes open to stupification.

“G’night, Stiles,” he says quietly, and resists fist pumping when he closes the door behind him. It’s made of glass - Stiles would totally see.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that worth waiting for?


	7. If You're Filled With Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are secret make-outs, dance rehearsals, invitations, and a possible new addition to the Stilinski family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to loveandallthat7 for saving this chapter from the ambiguous mess it originally was.
> 
> Apologies for the late update. I had some personal issues happen that impeded my writing schedule and my desire to write. I hope the fact this is the longest chapter yet will help soothe the hurt.  
> I'm addicted to your comments. I LOVE feedback as I'm writing something - I'd forgotten how fun that was! And thank you to everyone who subscribed or left kudos. You fuel the machine.

It takes about three missed calls for Derek to realize that the sound filling his room is from Skype, not his alarm. He sits up in bed, squinting at the laptop on his desk. There are birds singing - it can’t even be seven am yet.

Laura sits up straight when he clicks answer. She’s in yoga clothes and sipping at something that looks like sludge from a clear plastic container.

“Derek! I thought you died!” Her face shifts into a scowl as her eyes dart around the screen. “Why can’t I see you?”

“Early,” he grunts. Oh god, it _is_ before seven. “What do you want?”

“You’re usually up and at ‘em by now.” She grins. “Late night?”

“Mom told you,” he deduces. “Can’t you pump me for information after I’ve had breakfast?”

“Who’s the _girl?_ Or wait--” She tilts her head. “ _Boy?_ ”

“I’m not doing this now.”

“It’s a boy,” Cora interrupts. She’s standing in the doorway wearing a hoodie that reaches her knees, hair in a top-knot on her head. She probably hasn’t slept yet - she’s been super into this online game thing and Mom’s been worried. “His name is Stiles and they met at the country club.”

“Hmm, Stiles… Stiles… Stiles,” Laura says thoughtfully. “Is that the Harrisons’ oldest?”

“No, he’s from Beacon Hills,” Cora informs. She comes further into the room and parks herself on the end of Derek’s bed, stealing a pillow to lay back on. “Some kind of delinquent.”

“He is _not_ a--” Derek scrubs at his face with his hand. “You, out, and you--” he turns to Laura, abruptly realizing she can’t see him. “You only call me when you want to know something Mom can’t tell you.”

“That’s because you’d never tell me on your own. I had to find out from _Uncle Peter_ that you were dating your tennis coach. Such a _cliche_ , by the way.”

“Braeden was my MCMAP instructor,” he groans. “We broke up because she got stationed somewhere else.”

“See? I’d have known that if I didn’t get my information third-hand,” Laura points out. “Tell me about Stiles.”

“Tell me about _your_ love life,” he counters and Cora snorts behind him.

“You know I’m too busy for that right now,” Laura huffs dismissively. “I need to live vicariously through my baby brother! Why is this kid a delinquent?”

“He’s been in trouble some,” Derek shrugs, shifting around in the chair - he might as well get comfortable. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Does Mom know?”

“It’s none of Mom’s business. I’m eighteen now. I get to date who I want.”

“Says the guy who got lectured last night for breaking curfew,” Cora mutters. Derek narrows his eyes at her over his shoulder.

“ _Anyway_ , he’s nice. He makes me happy. That’s all you need to know.”

“You know she’s gonna want to meet him,” Laura says, “When I started dating Chad, she insisted on taking me to and from school and finding out who his parents were. Luckily he passed all the tests.”

Derek grits his teeth. “She’s not meeting Stiles.”

“Can I meet him?” Cora asks. “You kept pulling him away every time I came up to talk to you all summer.”

“Are you ashamed of him?” Laura prods. “You know we don’t care that it’s a boy, even though he does have a criminal record.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Derek tells the ceiling. “I’m not ashamed of Stiles, we’re just figuring things out right now. I don’t wanna scare him off with you guys interrogating him.”

“We just care about you,” Laura says softly.

“I’m just nosy,” Cora shrugs. “Why does your pillow suck so much?”

“Go use your own pillow then,” Derek tells her. “In _your_ room.”

As if to make a point, Cora fluffs the pillow and settles back down with a contented sigh.

“What’s Stiles’ last name?” Laura asks, typing. “Or wait, _is_ that his last name?”

“He doesn’t know,” Cora snorts.

“It’s Stilinski, actually,” Derek tells her with a smug look, before realizing what he’s just done. “Do _not_ google him, Laura.”

“He’s cute,” she says before he’s even finished the sentence. “Aw - profile’s private, though.”

“What?” Derek asks, opening up a browser. “How did you find him so quickly? It’s probably not even him.” He doesn’t use Facebook much, and any cursory searches of Stiles back during his mourning period had come up empty. Maybe he hadn’t been doing it right.

“You should really learn how to internet, Derek,” Cora says disdainfully. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It adds to his mystery,” Laura teases fondly, jerking her eyebrows. “Wait, is that the same Stilinski as the sheriff?”

Derek slumps.

“You’re dating a _cop’s_ kid? You’re gonna shit your pants,” Cora cackles. “I hope his dad cleans his gun in front of you.”

He studiously ignores her in favor of opening  the link Laura’s put in the chat window. He smiles softly at the picture of Stiles: a selfie where he’s wearing sunglasses and giving that half-smirk  that makes Derek’s heart jump.

“Shit, Law, you should see his face right now,” Cora comments. “It’s worse than when Uncle Peter married that dancer who ended up taking all his money.”

“Stop comparing Stiles to a stripper,” Derek grouses.

“Peter deserved that anyway,” Laura sneers. “She found out he tried to hire one of her dancer friends for his bachelor party.”

“ _That’s_ why they got divorced?” Derek asks, happy the focus is off him. “Peter said it was differences in belief systems.”

“Yeah, he believed he could buy her friends, and she believed differently.”

“Uncle Peter is the _worst,_ ” Cora mutters, which is practically their family motto. Derek, and Laura on the screen, nod in agreement.

“So,” Laura says, veering back to the subject. “Can I send Stiles a friend request?”

“ _No._ ”

* * *

“What is this?”

Stiles takes the thumb he was nervously chewing out of his mouth and blinks up at his dad. It’s Sunday; the old man has the day off and Stiles offered to cook dinner, so he’s naturally on alert. He pastes the most innocent look on his face that he can muster and pockets his phone.

“Oh, that?” he says, looking at the brochure his dad is holding out. “It was just an idea. I thought, who better to oversee the training of a future police dog than the _sheriff?_ ”

“You want to get a dog,” Dad says flatly.

“Yeah, you know,” he says lightly. “Companionship, loyalty… responsibility.”

“ _You_ want to take on responsibility.”

“I feel like I’m being interrogated,” Stiles defends. “What about if I move away, or go to college, huh? You might get lonely.”

Dad straightens up. “I thought you weren’t going to college.”

Stiles turns to the stove and pokes distractedly at the spaghetti sauce, avoiding that penetrating stare. Of _course_ his dad would latch on to that. “Maybe I’m not... _completely_ against the idea.”

“I can’t keep up,” Dad sighs, tossing the brochure on to the kitchen table. “Last month, you told me that college was just a ‘fear factory churning out drones for the capitalist workforce and charging them for the privilege.’”

“It still is. But maybe the best way to go against the system is from the inside,” Stiles tries. “Maybe I’ll just travel and educate myself that way. Maybe I’ll move to a big city and start playing guitar.”

“I’ve told you that you don’t have to move out as soon as you graduate,” his dad reminds with a grumble. “I thought--We’re getting along better these days, aren’t we?”

Stiles’ face falls. He nods.

“Is this because of that boy you went out with on Friday?

Automatically, Stiles’ hand reaches for his phone again. He hasn’t yet mustered up the courage to text Derek, and it’s been over a day. It’s not like Derek has texted _him_ either, but considering the two weeks Stiles spent ignoring Derek’s calls and immediately deleting his messages, it’s not that surprising. They’re in this weird limbo where they’re not _brand_ new, but it’s a delicate stage where Stiles is afraid to force things and it’s possible that Derek hasn’t made up his mind fully. They’d had fun - Friday was one of the best dates Stiles can remember having - but with everything else around them, he’s not sure if it’ll be enough. Maybe Derek’s head cleared a little when it wasn’t clouded by puppies.

“I can have an independent thought that isn’t to do with getting laid, Father,” Stiles sniffs, feeling his pulse tick up in response to the half-truth.

“Where does the dog come in to this?”

“Look, Scott has a litter of German Shepherd pups at the clinic that need homes. And you’re always saying I’m selfish and I never show initiative.”

“I’ve never _explicitly_ said that,” Dad corrects. “Implied, maybe...”

He turns around to catch the rueful grin on his father’s face.

“Oh, funny man, are we?”

“Son, I’m naturally suspicious and you’re pinging every alert on my radar right now. And do you have any idea how much it costs to train one canine officer? Let alone a _litter._ ”

“I’m sure there are tax breaks, incentives, even - and for a _sheriff._..”

“So you’ve read the literature. Well done you. Now what’s the deal?”

Stiles softens his features, hoping he comes across at least partly genuine. “I just think it’d be nice for you.” He swallows - it’s far from the worst lie he’s told. “We could go visit the puppies and see how you feel.”

Dad squints, letting a long beat of silence convey just how skeptical he really is. “I’ll drop by before my shift tomorrow.” When Stiles beams, he holds up a warning finger. “Only because there’s more to this and I’m gonna figure it out.”

“Sure, Pops,” Stiles scoffs, turning back around. He subtly checks his phone again. Nothing.

“Oh and kid?” Dad says, unfolding the Sunday paper with a flick. “Charge your phone. You’re probably wearing the battery down by staring at it so much.”

* * *

Derek jerks violently, batting the hand by his ear. He wipes at it with a look of disgust. “What _was_ th--”

Erica’s cleaning her finger off on her jeans. _Eugh._

“You were like a billion miles away.”

“He’s been like that all day,” Boyd smirks. He leans back on his elbows, Feet dangling off the edge of the stage. “He’s supposed to be asking his boy to family dinner.”

Erica’s eyes light up. “No _way._ Your parents found out?”

“I was late for curfew on Friday,” Derek scowls. He clasps his hands together on his lap. “I was with Stiles.”

“ _That’s_ why you were so weird at rehearsal that day,” Erica realizes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s nobody’s business,” Derek tells her, looking pointedly at Boyd. The guy just shrugs and gives him an unaffected look in return.

“Are you inviting him over?” Erica barrels on, completely uncaring. “Can _I_ come?”

“Why would you want to come?” Derek frowns.

“Are you kidding me? It’s like the clash of two worlds. Your family is probably all _Downton Abbey_ while Stiles belongs in _Shameless_.”

“How rich do you think we _are?”_ Boyd asks, crooking an eyebrow.

Derek hesitates. Honestly, he’d been so concerned with what Stiles would think of his family, that he hadn’t given much thought to what _they_ would think of _him._ It’s not that he gives a shit about their differences - Stiles is too important to Derek for that - but there _are_ some. Derek grew up in a world where people organize charity galas during the holidays and have summer homes, while Stiles would tease someone for having more than two bathrooms in their house. Stiles once got into an argument with a street vendor who was charging eight dollars for a scoop of ice cream - “Will the ice cream also _suck my dick?_ ”- while Derek has been known to spend twice that on coffee in a single day.  Fuck, Derek’s first car was a brand new Camaro while Stiles inherited his mother’s Jeep that’s been slowly getting most of its major parts replaced.

They _do_ come from different backgrounds, but when they’re together, it just doesn’t seem to matter. Derek is Derek and Stiles is Stiles, and what they have in common is each other.

He couldn’t avoid Mom the whole weekend. After she got back from golf on Sunday morning, he’d been subjected to a tense brunch where Cora made unsubtle jokes, Isaac slouched over his eggs benedict and his mother pulled disapproving faces. He’d _almost_ made it to the end when she’d dropped the question.

 _“When do we get to meet this_   _boy?”_

_Derek had stilled in his seat. Cora and Isaac conveniently disappeared like the roof was about to collapse and he tried not to feel betrayed. He downed half his glass of orange juice just to buy time to formulate an answer, but still couldn’t come up with an excuse._

_“It’s not that serious,” he’d tried. He even threw in a shrug for good measure, but she wasn’t buying it._

_“It’s serious enough that you didn’t even think to call when you’d be home late, out god-knows-where on the other side of town.”_

_Derek had suppressed the urge to roll his eyes - maybe Stiles was rubbing off on him more than he’d realized. “I’ve apologized for that.”_

_“This is an important year for you, Derek. I just don’t like the idea that you’re throwing your potential away, spending time on the wrong people.”_

_He’d fisted his hand in his napkin. “I’m not.”_

_“If that’s true, then I’d like to meet him.”_

_He’d deflated. “When?”_

It had been a whole day since that, and he still hadn’t gotten around to inviting Stiles. In fact, he hasn’t even _talked_ to Stiles since, and it’s only when the guy walks into Derek’s line of sight that he realizes that maybe he should have. There’s waiting the appropriate amount of time after a date, and then there’s just rudeness.

Stiles pauses when he sees him, a surprised look on his face. Derek straightens up, painting his own in an expression of nonchalance. He knows he fails when Erica scoffs in his periphery. It’s nice that the skip in his heart when they lock eyes is for good reasons again, and doesn’t cause his stomach to sink.

“Erica, you wanna go run lines over there?” Boyd asks, sensing the need for privacy.

Erica leans back from where she was clearly trying to get a front-row seat. “We don’t have any scenes together.”

“I can be your Sandy,” Boyd tries again, unsubtly tilting his head. Stiles dips his chin as they engage in a staring contest, rolling his lips together. If Derek was asked, he’d claim to be the only person capable of communicating with Boyd that way. However, in just a few short weeks, Erica’s speaking the same language like a pro. It’s unsettling. Sweet, but mostly curious and unsettling.

“Ugh, fine,” she huffs, standing up. “Only because you've got a nice mouth and Derek refuses to rehearse the kissing scene.”

Boyd stops when she says it, looking a little bewildered. His face breaks out into a Boyd-version of a grin - which would be a small smile on anyone else - and they retreat to the other end of the room. Derek turns back, readying himself for a conversation where he hopefully doesn’t blurt out that he spent every spare minute since their date replaying it and smiling, but he blinks when Stiles continues past him, a resolute look on his face.

Derek’s stomach drops. Maybe he should have sucked up his pride and sent Stiles a message - called him, even - but he’s still very aware that Stiles is too painfully cool for him, and shyness won out. Somewhere inside, Derek will always be that little bit out-of-the-loop, falling short of people’s expectations given his - _ugh -_ status and his last name. He’ll always be too quick to blush, too easily flustered and inexperienced. Stiles is the kind of guy who’s seen it all, done it all, and Derek’s stuck looking up the translations for the slang he’d been using online later.

Stiles stops outside the door leading to backstage. Derek swallows, but when the guy turns and fixes him a pointed look before disappearing through it, he jolts.

Curiously, he gets to his feet and glances around.  It’s still a little early for rehearsal, and everyone’s hanging out, eating or cramming in some homework. He follows through the door, eyes straining at the difference in lighting.

“Stiles?”

The door to the prop room is ajar, and it’s logically the only one on the corridor Stiles needs to be in. He tilts his head, frowning as he steps through.

“What’s--”

A hand reaches out and grabs his arm, and he barely has time to draw a startled breath before there are soft, warm lips on his, and the familiar scent of Stiles’ cologne fills his senses. He feels his features relax into the kiss, butterflies waking up in his stomach and migrating up his chest.

Stiles’ hand cradles his jaw in a gentle command, and Derek melts into it, canting his weight forward until they hit solid shelving. It’s cold in the room, and the heat of Stiles along his front is a heady contrast. Getting with the program, he rests his hands on Stiles’ waist, curling his fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt when the guy teases his tongue with sweet little touches.

When Stiles hums happily, Derek pulls back.

“That’s for being a giant tease and running off after riling me up the other night.”

All Derek can do is stare back at him dopily, biting down on his bottom lip to chase the taste.

“Uh, sorry I didn’t--” Stiles starts, just as Derek’s brain comes back online and he says, “I wasn’t sure if--”

They stop, chuckling. Stiles shrugs for Derek to continue.

“I didn’t know if you’d changed your number, or...”

Stiles swallows, looking guilty enough for Derek to lean back out of his space. He runs his finger along the edge of Derek’s jacket, almost shy.

 “No, it’s still the same. I’ll reply if you--if you _want_ to, uh, text me. It’s okay if--”

“No, I did, I just… busy weekend, you know?”

Stiles nods like he does, even though he couldn’t possibly suspect that Derek spent most of it studying in his room and choosing times his mom was busy to sneak out and go running in the preserve.

“I had fun on Friday,” Stiles confesses. “It was just like before. I love, uh, being around you.”

Derek smiles. “Me too.”

“We should do it again?” Stiles asks hopefully, and Derek’s immediate response is to lean in and kiss him once more, just because. It turns dirty almost immediately; their bodies press together and there are definitely reactions happening that aren’t appropriate on school grounds, but fuck it. It feels _good._

Stiles spins them so that Derek’s the one with his back to the wall, and then it’s quiet except for the rustle of their clothing against each other and the soft hitch of their breaths in the enclosed space. Derek’s body reacts, chasing each touch with tingling goosebumps when a hand snakes inside his jacket and beneath his shirt, splayed over his flank.

“Missed you,” Stiles tells him quietly. It sounds more open and honest than anything he’s ever told Derek, and the thought lights up his insides with a swell of pleasant ache. “I’m so stupid.”

“So stupid,” Derek agrees, smiling against his jaw. The muscles in his stomach clench with each caress. “Don’t do it again.”

“Never.” He swells forward into Derek’s space again, locking his arms around Derek’s shoulders and keeping their forms flush together. Derek’s heart pounds heavily, his hands moving almost independent of him to touch as much as he can. He feels like he can’t get close enough.

Which, of course is when there’s a pounding on the door.

“Boys?” Lydia Martin’s judgemental voice calls. “Finstock is calling the cast for a choreography lesson. Zip up and get out.”

Derek’s face burns. Stiles tilts his chin back, tongue poking into his cheek as he muffles a laugh.

“Seriously,” Lydia goes on. “Pick it up later!’

“Jesus, okay!” Stiles calls back, stepping out of Derek’s reach to straighten his clothes up. He raises his brows back at him. “Rain check?”

Derek nods, willing himself to regain composure as Stiles opens the door and Lydia makes a show of stepping back to let them past.

“Lydia,” he greets.

“Stiles,” she says, then, “Derek. I figured you had more class than this.”

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs. “Try that around someone who doesn’t know for a fact how you spent your free periods at the start of sophomore year.”

To that, she simply narrows her eyes as he passes her. “It’s not your fault, Derek,” she says, turning to him. “I have it on good authority that that mouth of his is the reason he doesn’t get carded at Jungle anymore.”

Derek raises his brows at her.

“Yeah, I’m verbally gifted,” Stiles tosses over his shoulder, then turns to walk backwards. “I think I might have a career in politics ahead of me. Maybe motivational speaking.”

Lydia purses her lips. “Sure, that’s what I meant.”

-

“I watched an episode of Planet Earth last night where a type of bird relied on their dancing prowess to further their species,” Finstock says, pacing the length of the stage. “I want you people to be that bird. Dance like the fate of humankind rests on your ability to do the Mashed Potato. Dance like _you’ll never get your junk touched--_ ”

“Mr Finstock,” Lydia’s mom interjects. She sends him a meaningful look with her eyebrows, and he deflates.

“Alright, everyone watch Lydia. Pretend it’s a flashmob.”

Paige starts playing piano again and Derek tries his best to dodge Erica’s flailing limbs. Dancing is... not her strong suit. It isn’t Derek’s either, but at least Coach hasn’t told him to tone down the crotch grinds.

It’d probably be a lot easier if Stiles wasn’t camped out in the front row, pretending to go through prop inventory and chewing on a pen. He keeps sneaking looks up at Derek, and fuck him, it’s _hard_ to concentrate when he can still feel the ghost of those upturned lips on his neck.

The music stops again. “Hale, have you recently had a leg transplant?”

“Sorry, Coach,” he says, sweating.

“Do you want to get laid some time soon?” Finstock does that weird, bulging eye thing that stares into his soul. Derek’s eyes automatically migrate to Stiles and back again, heart pounding that he’d evidently been so obvious. He blushes.

“I’m not sure what you--”

“Would you like to get _laid?_ ” Finstock enunciates, drawing snickers from the other castmates, and a squirm from Stiles.

“I...”

“Yes or no, Hale.”

“Yes,” Derek blurts, blushing harder. “Very much so.”

”Fellas who can shake it get laid, you know. It’s science.”

In the front row, Stiles is beaming down at his clipboard, his feet twitching with excess energy and his knuckles curled over his mouth. He resolutely doesn’t look up at the stage, though it’s painfully clear he wants to.

Derek wants to _die._

“That’s a pretty loose definition of ‘science,’” Mrs Martin sighs.

“He’s a good lookin’ kid,” Coach Finstock tells her. “But one day that might not be enough. It’s a rite of passage to learn a few moves.”

“I think he’ll do okay,” Stiles comments lewdly, slouching down in his seat.

“And that attitude is why you’re stuck febreezing the costumes, Bilinski!” Coach turns again to the cast. “Alright, from the top. Erica, it’s not an audition for The Pussycat Dolls!”

“I just feel like Danni would _own_ her sexuality, you know?” Erica shares, hand on heart.

“Sure,” Finstock nods. “But she doesn’t have a thing for Frenchy, so tighten it up and stop making eyes at my defenseman!”

When Coach finally gives up and tells them to take fifteen, Derek slumps down on the floor next to where Paige is organizing her sheet music. She’s been given pretty much free reign with the arrangements since she can probably play more instruments than their actual head of the music department.

“How’s it going?”

She shrugs. “Changing the key of some of the songs has been pretty intense. We’re lucky Erica’s a contralto, or it’d be a total headache.”

“Please don’t feed her ego any more,” Derek huffs, sipping at water.

“At least the lyrics we can get around. Switch some pronouns, change a few words. Danny wanted to keep all of his solo, and we can do that since Rizzo’s pregnancy scare is now a sexuality crisis. Beauty School Dropout’s gonna be fun, though.”

Derek laughs, recalling Boyd’s face when they’d told him to start growing out his hair so they could spray it pink. “This show is gonna be really interesting.”

“Danni and Sandy make sense, at least.”

“Sure.”

“As long as Sandy can actually concentrate long enough to look at Danni when he’s on stage.”

Derek frowns at her, but the knowing look she sends him makes him look down. “I was distracted.”

“I noticed. So you and skinny-jeans are back on, I take it?”

“Mom wants to meet him.”

Paige laughs. “Oh, wow. An audience with Talia. That’s fun.”

“She’s not that bad, right?”

“She’s your mom, and she thinks you’re perfect. Does the guy realize what he’s in for?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” he confesses, “I was worried about what he’d think of us, and now I’m freaking out that they won’t get along. And what if he thinks it’s way too soon and I’m moving too fast?”

Paige looks across thoughtfully at Stiles, taping cables to the floor and doling out instructions to the other stagehands. “He likes you, right?”

Derek lifts a shoulder.

“He joined our crew out of nowhere offering to do whatever we could assign him, which I’m guessing was an effort to be close to you. Don’t get me wrong, I think you deserve better than someone who hurt you and publicly humiliated you, but if he really gives this much of a shit, he’ll make an effort with your family.”

“What if it doesn’t work? Derek asks, voicing his fears. “What if Mom insults him or doesn’t approve and I’m stuck between both of them?”

She blows out a breath. “Then you’re gonna have to suck it up and come to terms with the fact you can’t please everyone.”

“I don’t want to please ‘everyone’,” he corrects. “I care what my _mom_ thinks, and _she_ cares about what everyone else thinks.”

“What do _you_ want, Derek?”

“I want the guy I’m seeing to be accepted by my family,” he scowls. “It’s not so much to ask.”

“The guy you’re seeing? What, won’t he let you call him your boyfriend?” She stiffens up in offense and Derek scrunches his brow.

“No, we just haven’t… talked about that yet.”

“Maybe if you knew what he was, you wouldn’t be freaking out about how to introduce him to your family.”

“I’m freaking out because Mom never seems to approve of people until they’ve gone through some weird initiation process that Stiles probably won’t pass. It’s _impossible_ to pass.”

“It’d be easier if your type wasn’t the exact opposite of you.” She tilts her head. “You have a thing for people who don’t conform, don’t bend to expectations. Braeden was a prime example.”

He thinks about it. She’s right - Braeden had been a different brand of danger. She got off on defying expectations and making people uncomfortable by calling them on their bullshit. She had this commanding presence that suggested nobody was her superior, and to a guy who’d grown up in an environment with people who only ever seemed to do something if it would be seen, it was radical. Derek never knew what to say around her, and he realized early on that he craved her approval - perhaps more than her affections.

She’d give him this ghost of a smile when he shared the right opinion on an issue, and Derek would feel like he’d aced some test. He felt like he’d learned a lot about himself in the short time they were together, formed opinions, took stances on things he never had given much thought to - and not just ones he shared with her.

Even the crush he had on Paige was born out of her refusal to join a clique and be a stereotypical Devenford girl. Stiles too, at first, piqued his curiosity because he was different; there was a sense of unknown about him that Derek wanted to get beneath and unravel. It was fine when Derek himself was the only one who had to be concerned about it - but merging the two worlds together is a different thing entirely.

 

> He looked around warily, checking again that he wasn’t being followed. Cora had been way too curious about why he was leaving the house again after dropping her off, and the paranoid part of his brain wouldn’t rest.
> 
> The place was in darkness. Derek had parked a little ways up the road, left the car hidden in a cluster of trees that he hoped would leave it undiscovered until he needed to come back for it. He checked his phone again. Other than a questioning text from Cora and a confirmation from Isaac that he’d leave their home security alarm off, his absence seemed to have gone unnoticed.
> 
> He could still turn back, if he wanted. Despite that knowledge, he seemed to continue toward the meeting point like a compulsion, scanning the expanse of the high brick walls for a break. It felt covert and foolish, but damn if it didn’t flood his system with adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught.
> 
> Strangely, he found that he _liked_ the feeling. Derek never did anything wrong. He never talked back to his mom, never stayed out late, never missed practice or failed a test. He usually liked that - staying on the straight and narrow and being seen as reliable and trustworthy - but this territory was exciting and new and he’d be lying if he said that the fact there was a gorgeous boy involved wasn’t a motivating factor.
> 
> Reaching the entrance, there wasn’t any indication that he wasn’t alone. His betraying brain wondered for a moment if this was all some prank, if Stiles had lured him out here just to see if he’d be idiotic enough to fall for it and would be laughing about it with his friends. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than he’d arrived at the high iron gates of the entrance, and a hooded figure was sitting in the grass on the other side.
> 
> Stiles had his legs crossed over one another, a bag of Cheetos on his lap. He pulled back the hood when Derek stepped into view.
> 
> “Shit, you actually showed up,” he snorted, crunching on a chip. “Okay, walk about five paces down. There’s a crack in the wall halfway up so you can climb through.”
> 
> Derek hesitated. He really was breaking in. Which was absurd, since his family had been members of the club since before he was born, and he could technically just have slipped off to meet Stiles from the inside. It was Stiles who wasn’t really supposed to be here, but the thought didn’t comfort him much.
> 
> “Are there cameras?”
> 
> “None that anyone cares to check.” Stiles said, getting to his feet. “This part of the grounds is pretty much abandoned.” He shot Derek a smile. “Relax, Richie. If we get caught, you’re not the one whose ass is on the line.”
> 
> As Stiles disappeared from view, Derek frowned in guilt. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Stiles had a point - if they were discovered, the worst Derek was facing was a suspension or maybe an apology. This was Stiles’ _job._ He didn’t seem to like it very much, but he obviously worked here for a reason.
> 
> He opened his mouth to voice his concerns, but Stiles hissed, “What are you waiting for, a red carpet?” and Derek hurried on.
> 
> “What’s on the other side?” he called through the wall, studying the crack Stiles was talking about. There was a rock nestled in the grass that he could use to foist himself up, but it was still a big drop.
> 
> “A good time,” Stiles snorted, rustling the bag of chips again. “Now get your ass over here. I’m getting bored.”
> 
> He got to the top pretty easily; the brickwork was uneven enough to give him plenty of footholds, and it actually didn’t seem that high when he got to the top. The lights of the club seemed far off from here, and the sprinklers for the golf course were switched on, misting up the air between them and everyone else.
> 
> “The security here is pretty terrible,” Derek said as he began to climb down the other side. He was careful of his footing, but at the last second lost it and slid, digging his fingers into the brick. “Crap!”
> 
> “You’re good,” Stiles called up.
> 
> He sounded closer than before, and Derek looked down to see he’d abandoned his snacks in the grass and was now standing directly below him, holding his arms out. Derek shook the sting out of his hand and felt around for another foothold, stretching to reach it.
> 
> “And the view is exceptional, by the way.”
> 
> “Shut up,” Derek snorted back, feeling his face heat up. There was only a few more feet left, and it was smooth going until he felt a hand on his back, guiding him the rest of the way.
> 
> He turned around when his feet were on the ground, Stiles’ palm resting on his waist now, and fought back a smile. “I think I made it,” he said redundantly.
> 
> “Yeah, just, you know...checking for injuries.”
> 
> “That’s smart. Feels good, though.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Stiles breathed, widening his fingers. “Does.”
> 
> He looked different in that moment, freer. The person Derek was used to seeing around the club was indistinct until you paid attention to him. He could probably fade into the background if he really tried, and it seemed to be something he consciously did until Derek took notice. Now, faced with a more relaxed, casual Stiles; this Stiles who had mussed hair and a self-assured expression, Derek felt like he was meeting him for the first time - that this is who he really was, and Derek was fortunate enough to get to see that. This guy was wearing skate shoes and dark pants cut into shorts below the knee, and his hoodie was unzipped to reveal a graphic tee underneath, and it was the first time, Derek noted, that he actually looked his age.
> 
> Before Derek could react, the hand on his flank laced with his fingers, and Stiles grinned. “C’mon.”
> 
> They ran half-crouched through the grass. The edges of the club’s property was fenced in by trees of varying sizes where the wall disappeared behind them. In contrast to the manicured lawns of the golf course, the grass was shin-height and thick, and without the lights of the distant buildings, the visibility shrank to the moonlight filtering through the leaves and the clear, uninterrupted blanket of stars.
> 
> Stiles was wiry and fast. He wasn’t so fast that Derek couldn’t keep up with him, but to someone used to training on tracks or running drills across a lacrosse field, the way the guy dodged obstacles and parkoured through gaps in the trunks had Derek on high alert. Even in the preserve, Derek usually ran a path; Stiles was accustomed to making his own.
> 
> And the whole time, Derek gripped tightly to the hand in his, let himself be led deeper into the woods and farther away from everything he knew, and he realized, strangely, that he wasn’t scared at all.

“You’re probably never going to be with someone your mom thinks is good enough for you, so just get used to it now,” Paige shrugged.

“She likes you,” Derek points out.

“Thats because she’s known me since we were in kindergarten, and I refused to date you.”

“This is going to crash and burn,” Derek shrugs defeatedly. “If he doesn’t freak out that I’m forcing a relationship on him, Mom will scare him off.”

“Or it could all go fine and she could mind her own business,” Paige says, holding out a hand. “But putting it off isn’t gonna solve anything. The longer you leave it, the more suspicious she’ll get, and you’re literally the worst at lying to authority figures.”

He breathes out a sigh, sending her a disbelieving look. “I just--I really like him and I wish this wasn’t an issue - it’s so stupid. It’s not the 1950s or some kind of feudal system where there’s gonna be a joining of our two households.”

“No,” Paige smirks. “It’s Beacon Valley. It’s worse.”

* * *

If anyone told Stiles six months ago that he’d be belly down on his bed, smiling into his pillow because the sight of his _boyfriend’s_ face on his phone made his insides fizz up like pop rocks, he’d have flipped them off and come up with some lewd, sexual comment in reply.

Now, though...

“I like that. The... 'boyfriend' thing.” He pulls his chin up and raises his eyebrows. “Does that mean I get to wear your letterman jacket?”

Derek huffs fondly. “If you want. It’s more like a sports coat, though.”

“Oh my god. Your school is ridiculous,” he groans. “I don’t think I could pull off a sports coat.”

“I think you could pull off anything,” Derek says, then immediately proceeds to blush harder than Stiles has ever seen. “That was cheesy, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for cheese. I fact, I could do with more cheese. Extra cheese for this guy.”

“Are you hungry or something?”

“Kind of.”

“Thought so,” Derek smirks. “What are you supposed to be doing?”

“Homework. But I like this more.”

“Wow, more than homework? I’m really touched.”

“Shut up,” Stiles grins. “You know what I meant.”

He levers himself up to a sitting position, nudging his schoolwork out of the way. The fact that Derek Hale just wanted to Define The Relationship with him takes precedence over literally everything else in his life. It’s not like Stiles has never been in a relationship before - there was Lydia, then Heather, Danny after that and all the casual things in between - but this feels like an accomplishment. They’ve gone through a lot to get here, and the fact that Derek is even giving him another chance feels like he should be shouting it from the rooftops.

“There was actually another reason I wanted to talk to you,” Derek says shyly. He’s pacing in his room now; Sties can see glimpses of posters on the wall and a bookcase behind him, some extra shelving that appears to house a bunch of trophies. Such an overachiever.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles teases. “Let me just make sure my dad’s asleep.”

“What?” Derek asks, then his eyes widen. “That’s not--I didn’t mean so we could do, uh, that...”

“Holy shit, relax,” Stiles laughs. “I was kidding. Well, mostly kidding. I’ll be imagining it anyway, it’d just make it more fun if you were part of the experience.”

Derek slams the door to his room. “Stop talking about phone sex when my little sister can probably hear you!” he hisses. His cheeks are flushing again and his eyes dart around manically. It’s adorable.

“Fine. What did you want to talk about?” Stiles asks, taking pity.

Derek swallows. “So, um, the other night. After we went to the animal clinic  - my mom was kinda pissed.”

“Curfew? Sorry about that.” He's really not, but stuff like this is important to Derek, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is dismiss that.

“Uh, yeah, but anyway, she wants to meet the guy who made me forget to call home to say I would be late. I told her it’s too soon for that, but she’s kind of made up her mind about it, and... Can you come to dinner? I’ll pick you up and drop you home after - its totally fine if you’re busy and I can blow her off for another week. It’s really stupid and archaic, I know, but shes...protective, and she worries a lot so...”

Stiles probably has a blank look on his face, but honestly, its a good reflection of how his brain is responding right now.

He’s never been a meet-the-parents kind of guy. Stiles is the dirty, secret-make-outs-in-the-back-of-a-van date, maybe sometimes he gets a nod of acknowledgement in public after. Nobody, not since Lydia, has ever wanted to bring him home to meet their family.

He’s… stunned.

“You want me to meet your mom?” Stiles croaks.

Derek’s face goes pained. “You _really_ don’t have to. I'm aware that it’s been like a week and we’ve only had one official date. I don’t want you to think it’s some kind of ultimatum or anything, because it isn’t. She just won’t let it go and I said I’d ask...”

Stiles takes a breath. “Do… do _you_ want me to meet her?” Everything Derek’s been saying has been because of his mom, and he’s getting the distinct impression that he’d rather none of this was happening.

On the screen, his face goes thoughtful. “I’d prefer if it was later. It'd be great if you were able to come over and--but I know how soon this is. I don’t want it to seem like I’m pushing you into something you weren’t planning on.”

The indecisive look on Derek’s face makes him soften. On a whim, Stiles turns back to his discarded laptop, opens up the browser and navigates to his Facebook account settings.

“Are you still online?” he asks, watching a look of confusion crease Derek’s features.

“Uh, yeah?” His eyes dart off to the side and Stiles hears some typing and clicking around, and then Derek’s face does the same thing it did back in the animal clinic when he first met the puppies.” _Stiles Stilinski is in a relationship_ ,” he reads aloud, then looks back at the screen. “You’re sure?”

“Dude, I’m in this for real. If you need me to serenade your mom with Lionel Richie wearing a tux, I’ll do it.”

“You just have to come to dinner,” Derek huffs. “She’ll probably ask you a million questions and my shitty stepdad will be there, but… it’d make things a lot easier for us, I think.”

“Then I’ll do it. I’ll woo her like I wooed you.”

“Not exactly like you wooed me, I hope,” Derek grumbles, looking put out.

“Oh my god, stop being like this when I can’t rub my face all over your grumpy face.”

“I’m not being like anything,” Derek mutters. Grumpily.

Stiles grins at him, biting down on his lip to reel back the full force of it. “When should we do this?”

“Um, tomorrow?” Derek says with an awkward intonation. “I guess I should’ve given you more notice, but...”

“But you’ve been secretly freaking out about it for days?”

“It’s a lot to ask.”

“It’s really not,” Stiles snorts. “I’m cool with it. It’s gonna be fine.” He checks the time, realizing he’s been on the phone for over an hour and he still has stuff to finish before tomorrow. Stiles Stilinski: model student. “Listen, I gotta go. Homework. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Derek takes a second to look disappointed, then approving, before he finally schools his face into a sleepy smile. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Stiles.”

“G’night,” Stiles says, ending the call. It’s only when he lets the phone drop onto his bed that he lets himself freak out.


	8. Feel Your Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles angsts over meeting Derek's family... and then meets Derek's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THESE CHAPTERS ARE JUST GETTING LONGER!  
> Okay, this delay was ridiculous, I know - but if it's any consolation, I moved continents and started Law school and had seasonal fic to contribute so...?  
> [IF YOU NEED A REFRESHER ON THE STORY SO FAR, CLICK HERE AND SCROLL DOWN.](http://howlnatural.tumblr.com/private/137979326919/tumblr_o1hby4wj0q1s30jbh)  
> This is where our little story earns its Explicit rating, so there's that. It might be added that though Derek is seventeen at the time of the fic, all acts are fully consensual. Check your tags, children.
> 
> Loveandallthat is my beautiful beta, who somehow still puts up with my erratic posting non-schedule.

“Dude, are you reading the _Financial Times_?”

Scott is confused enough to pull back from nuzzling into Kira’s neck and stare at him in his periphery. They’re sitting on the grass on the quad, soaking up some early-fall sunshine and generally being stereotypical Californian teenagers. The lawn isn’t crowded, but there are enough people around that Stiles has to focus to tune them out - especially the whispers of, “so did you hear Derek Hale is dating again?” - and it takes a second for him to realize he was addressed.

“Research,” he explains without looking up.

It’s not like he needs to look up - watching Scott and Kira fall for each other has been both comforting and vomit-worthy; he’s not sure if Scott is _capable_ of having a casual relationship with someone that ends amicably after a few dates. At least Kira’s not yet at the point where she knows Scott's is way out of Stiles’ friend-league.

Stiles holds a finger up, concentrating until he makes it to the end of the article. This was all so much easier when Derek was the only person he felt like impressing. Back when they were as new as Scott and Kira, Derek was shy and beautiful, almost _delicate,_ and Stiles got off a little on corrupting him. Their dates during the summer had been carefree and easy, and right now, with the pressure piling on, he’d give anything to go back to that.

When Stiles could just brush Derek off as a gorgeous distraction, things were far simpler.

> “I thought you had work today,” Derek frowned, leaning in to the open door of the jeep. He looked disappointed at the prospect, and Stiles hoped that that face wasn’t due to the fact that Stiles wouldn’t be around to collect his towels and switch them out for fresh ones.
> 
> Stiles held a hand out, ducking slightly. “I’m playing hooky, and you’re increasing my chances of being caught the longer you stand around questioning me about it!”
> 
> “But I have a tennis lesson at four,” Derek said, his shoulders stiffening as he glanced around. “Why do you want me to come?”
> 
> “Because I like answering inane questions, apparently,” Stiles sighed fondly. “Why do you think?”
> 
> Derek’s lips curled. Without another word he levered himself up into the passenger seat, slouching his shoulders, mirroring Stiles’ cautious pose.
> 
> “Drive.”
> 
> “Oh my god,” Stiles cackled, shifting the car into gear. “You’re the worst at stealthy.”
> 
> __
> 
> The colorful skyline of the carnival stretched out in front of them. Against the clear blue backdrop, each contraption made up a kaleidoscope of hues, the next more dazzling than the last. Tent-tops interspersed with lines of people scattered the fairground, and delighted screams from various rides cut through the boom of music, hyping up the waiting hordes.
> 
> Stiles watched Derek’s eyes roam around, lighter in the brilliant sunlight and taking in everything at once.
> 
> “You look like you’ve never been to a carnival before.”
> 
> “It’s been a while,” he said thoughtfully, then turned. “What do you wanna do first?”
> 
> “I definitely need to stick my face in some funnel cake. But we should probably get some rides in before that, or I’ll blow chunks everywhere. ”
> 
> Derek’s face crinkled. “Hot.”
> 
> “Right? You should take your underwear off right now.”
> 
> “Do those lines ever work on anybody?” Derek asked, clearly failing to hide the flush in his cheeks as Stiles stepped closer to him and got in his face. Stiles let his silence increase Derek’s agitation, as the guy darted his eyes to him and away, muscles locking up.
> 
> “Only if they really want them to.”
> 
> When Derek turned to face him, trying to come up with a witty comeback, Stiles took a step out of his space.
> 
> “Dude,” he said, pointing, “ _Bumper cars._ ”
> 
> __
> 
> Seeming to feel Stiles’ eyes on him, Derek paused. A puff of cotton candy stuck out from between his lips and Stiles leaned in, whip-quick, to seal their mouths together.
> 
> “You’re such a kid,” he said fondly, wiping at his mouth with his fingers as the treat dissolved on his tongue. “I’ve literally never seen anyone over the age of five get that pumped over cotton candy.”
> 
> “It’s different when it’s fresh out of the machine,” Derek said defensively. “You’re the one who got in a fight with a seven-year-old.”
> 
> “No blows were exchanged, only verbal ones.”
> 
> “It was over a _doll._ ”
> 
> “A Buzz Lightyear action figure, actually. I’ve been wanting one of those since _I_ was seven. That little punk has probably never even seen Toy Story.”
> 
> “A movie for kids? Probably not,” Derek teased, nudging in with his shoulder. He seemed more at ease now than when they were around the country club stealing moments together. Maybe it was just progression in their relationship, or maybe Derek just relaxed more away from prying eyes. Whatever it was, Stiles boldly reached down and laced their hands together. Derek startled slightly, looking first to the gesture and then up to him, then tightened the hold, and they walked on, making a beeline for the ghost train.
> 
> “Dude,” Stiles said after a moment, pulling a face. “Your hands are gross.”
> 
> Derek’s only response was to press an equally sticky kiss to his cheek, looking far too proud. Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t break contact. He figured he could put up with it.

“Research for what?” Scott asks, breaking his concentration again.

“I’m going to the Hales’ for dinner tonight. I wanna be able to steer conversation away from, uh, awkward stuff.”

“You’re meeting your boyfriend’s family?” Kira asks, lighting up. She spins on Scott’s lap to face him properly and clutches her chest. “That’s so cute!”

“Not cute,” Stiles corrects with a scowl. “Stressful and terrifying. Stressfully terrifying.”

She deflates. “How come?”

“Remember that scene in _Titanic_ where Leonardo DiCaprio has dinner at the captain’s table with Kate Winslet’s mom and fiance, and that old rich Southern lady has to help him dress and tell him which fork to use, and they see through him anyway? Well this is like that, except I don’t have a helpful old lady and freezing to death in the ocean actually seems like a _positive_ outcome.”

“She had to let go,” Scott mutters sadly, while Kira tilts her head.

“In this scenario, who’s Billy Zane?”

“Derek’s stepdad, probably." He wrinkles his nose. "Except without the...you know... _engagement_ and--Look, it fits, okay?”

“Why the Financial Times, though?” Scott asks, nudging the paper with the toe of his sneaker. “You know rich people talk about more than just money and business, right?”

“I panicked! I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’ve met people’s parents before,” Scott points out, resting his nose on Kira’s shoulder.

“Not _intentionally,”_ he huffs. “They didn’t usually say much to me other than, ‘get out’ or ‘who the hell are you?’ or ‘if you sneak in our kid’s window again I’ll call the cops.’”

“That last one, Heather?” Scott guesses.

“Danny,” Stiles grunts defeatedly.

“You know he hooked up with the captain of the Devenford lacrosse team?” Kira asks innocently, and Stiles is momentarily sidetracked.

_“Jackson?”_

“Yeah, it was a couple years back in Aspen. That’s why they’re always at each other’s throats - didn’t think they’d see each other again.” Scott gives her a quizzical look. “What?” she asks him, obviously pleased to be the one who _knows_ things instead of being the new girl. “I’m quiet - people talk like I’m not there. It’s how I heard that Stiles was dating before you even did.”

“Dating him for _now_ ,” Stiles groans.

“I think you’re freaking out over nothing,” Scott offers, ever the supportive bro.

“You’re supposed to say shit like that to me,” Stiles retorts. “I’m totally fucked. I mean I’m-- _fuckl!_ Do I always swear this much?”

“Dude!” Scott’s voice breaks with humor. “You got this. You’ve talked your way out of everything since the class gerbil died at your house in second grade.”

Stiles twists his mouth, looking into the middle distance. “I guess.”

“What happened?” Kira asks, horrified.

“I tried to make a video where he had superpowers and could fly,” Stiles confesses. “Spoiler alert: gerbils are _not_ aerodynamic.”

Scott pours some of his frozen lemonade out on the lawn. “To FitzGerbild,” he toasts. Stiles thumps his chest in respect.

* * *

He knows it’s the coward’s way out. The only car on the Stilinskis' drive is Stiles’ too-familiar baby-blue jeep, but Derek still lets the Camaro idle on the street and sends a text.

_I’m outside._

Stiles’ house is almost as he pictured it. There’s a a small, well-kept lawn in front framed by plain shrubbery. The asphalt of the street gives way to a concrete drive leading to a small porch - not big enough for any furniture, but it adorns the entrance invitingly - and the front door is painted red. It’s two storeys high, white with a pointed, slate-gray roof. He can see the sprawl of an old tree in the back yard, its branches reaching over the home like a shelter, and the mailbox is tilted where it stands. He can almost imagine a smaller, scruffier Stiles running around in the yard or hanging off one of the tree branches. The house is a _home._

In one of the first floor windows, a light goes out, and Derek follows with his eyes as more are extinguished until the door opens, and Stiles steps outside.

The smile on Derek’s face melts into confusion as the guy nears the passenger-side door.

“Hey,” he says distractedly, leaning into the chaste kiss in greeting. Stiles is in an immaculate, dark blue button-down and slacks, his hair neatly combed and styled, and he’s wearing dress shoes. He smells wonderful.

“Hey,” Stiles echoes, offering him a smile. His eyes drag away to dart around the car’s interior and he scrunches up his face. “I feel like I should have showered again before getting in this car.”

Derek blinks out of his surveying stare and turns forward with a huff. “It was a hand-me-down.”

“Dude, I think you car is worth more than my liver would get on the black market.”

He grins, shifting gear. “I’m not gonna ask how you have knowledge of the price of black market organs.”

“You’ve clearly never been in a position where you owed someone a shit-ton of cash you didn’t have,” Stiles counters, reaching back for his seatbelt. “I can’t believe we spent the summer going around in my Jeep when you’ve been hoarding this.”

“I like your Jeep.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Truthfully, Derek liked the fact that half the time he got in the Jeep, Stiles would take him somewhere he’d never been. He’d liked that: giving over control, letting Stiles’ easygoing, devil-may-care attitude shape his summer. It was an adventure, and he had the greatest tour guide ever. Plus, he’d heard the way Stiles talked about the other members of the country club, and he’d wanted to avoid a conversation like this one.

“It has a lot of good memories,” he says quietly, turning off the street and on to the main road. The neighborhood is old; it’s a product of the limited Beacon Hills urban sprawl that ended up absorbing it, and the houses are different shapes and sizes, blending together to make a sweet, 1980s nostalgic picture that reminds him of movies he watched as a kid. Here, he can imagine Stiles riding his bike around the area, or waiting for the schoolbus. It makes him smile.

“That it does,” Stiles allows, flashing him a dirty grin in the disappearing sunlight.

Derek swallows, chances a glance at his chest instead of where he knows a single look will make him blush with the implications in Stiles’ facial expression.

“So, want to explain the new look?”

Stiles looks down at himself, rubbing a palm over his knee. “I told you - I plan to woo.”

“You use that word too much,” Derek snorts.

“ _Fine_ , I want to charm the metaphorical pants off your mom. and I don’t think showing up in my jeans with a hole in one knee is the right way to do that.”

Derek lets the words settle over him, warming him from the inside out. Stiles is _invested_ in this, and the thought is a beautiful one that fills him with gratitude.

“I’m sure she’s gonna love you,” Derek says after a few moments, mostly believing it now. He realizes that all he needed was some indication that Stiles realized the importance of it all, and now that he has it, he feels considerably more calm about the whole thing.

“I probably should have brought something, but I didn’t really have time. Should we stop somewhere?” Stiles’ face creases up and he looks around when Derek gets on the highway. “Are there any florists open this late on a Thursday?”

Derek raises a brow at him. “I think you’re over-thinking this.”

Stiles chews his lip, eyes trained out through the windshield. He’s thinking so hard that Derek imagines he can hear it; the gears and cogs turning in his brain as he figures out the problem.

“No, you’re right, that’d be trying too hard. Hey, so what are your family’s political affiliations?”

“What exactly do you think you’ll be talking about?” Derek asks exasperatedly.

“I just like to be prepared,” Stiles shrugs. “So, Cora’s your little sister - she’s a freshmen, I’ve seen her around... then there’s Laura?” He nods to himself, “Laura. Double-majoring in Law and Poly-Sci at Berkeley. I guess she won't be there. Stepbrother Isaac, whom I’ve met. Junior, on the swim team. Stepdad is Dick - _shit_ \- Richard, sorry...”

Derek snickers. He doesn’t want to know how Stiles knows all of this, since he’s pretty sure he wasn’t the one to tell him most of it, which means Stiles went to the trouble of digging around online or asking someone who knows. He’s never seen him so on edge, losing his cool. Stiles’ knee bounces with nerves, and Derek reaches out for it, diverting to his forearm at the last second.

“It’s fine.”

“ _Richard_. Richard.” He lets his head fall back on the seat, but is instantly upright again when the car slows a little. “Hey, where are we going?”

“This is the turn-off for my house,” Derek says, indicating into the side-road on the edge of the preserve.

“You live out here? No wonder I’d never seen you around before.”

“It’s pretty remote. My family’s owned the land for a long time, though.”

Stiles turns and watches the trees pass.The sun is almost completely gone now, and it silhouettes them against the sky. Derek imagines how it looks through Stiles’ eyes - to someone seeing it for the first time, or even the first time in a long time - and the place is instantly beautiful again

“That’s awesome,” Stiles says softly.

“It’s pretty cool,” Derek shrugs in agreement, then something occurs to him. “So, where does your dad think you are?”

“I just told him I wouldn’t be around for dinner. It’s no big deal.”

“Okay,” Derek nods, eyes on the road. He shouldn’t have expected Stiles to go telling everyone about him - it’s not like he’s Stiles’ first boyfriend or anything. In fact, Derek never would have told his family this fast if he hadn’t been forced into it. It’s only fair.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks, studying him. Derek glances over, and he’s got a concerned look on his face. It reminds him of their first date, back in the summer, and just like then, he offers an affirmative smile.

__

When Stiles met Derek, he knew by common sense that the guy was rich. They met at a country club, for fuck’s sake, and he’s been to his school now and his car is like something one of those people on TLC who love inanimate objects would marry - but if Stiles knew that Derek's house looked like _this_ , he never would have agreed to be picked up.

"This is a hotel, right?" he jokes, though he knows the answer, even without Derek's eye-roll. "Seriously, man... you live here? Where does the staff sleep? Is there an underground tunnel network in case you find yourselves under attack?"

"Stiles..."

"Who mows the lawn? The groundskeeper for Levi’s Stadium?"

"Stiles."

"How did you fight off the dragon who lived here first?" He tilts his head sympathetically, “Did you lose many good knights?”

"Are you done?" Derek asks, fondly exasperated.

"One more - when the President visits, do you give him his own wing, or does he get free reign of the whole place?" Derek gives him a withering look. "Okay, I'm done."

"It's not that big."

"Derek, I've been in smaller _hospitals._ "

"It's been in my family for generations... there were more people living here back then." As he says it, Stiles notices the defensive posture of Derek's shoulders, and internally feels ashamed.

He slumps. "Look, I'm sorry... I get snarky when I'm nervous. It's just..." He trails off, gesturing through the windshield. "This is insane. I didn't think people actually lived in places like this outside Beverly Hills."

"I guess I don't really think about it, Derek mumbles, “It's just... my home."

Stiles feels his chest warm up. On anyone else, it would sound like some faux humility bullshit - but it’s genuine. Derek really is something different.

"And that's why I--Why you're so awesome." He swallows past the slip. They're not there yet, but in that moment - for Stiles, at least - it felt like they were. The sensible part of him knows it's way too soon to go throwing that word around, especially after how Stiles behaved at the end of the summer and when he is about to make an ass of himself and never get invited back here again.

Shame, he's really going to miss Derek's abs.

He takes a steadying breath. "Really starting to wish I'd brought something," he mumbles. "Your Mom's gonna think I suck."

"My sister thinks I suck for never letting you two meet before now, so I guess we can suck together?"

Stiles stares at him, trying his best not to laugh right away. How could anyone be so precious? He presses his lips together, waiting for Derek to hear it. After a second, his eyes widen, and all blood appears to flush into his ears.

"Oh god, forget I said that."

"No way," Stiles giggles, something loosening in his chest. He feels instantly grateful. "That’s just what I needed."

Just in time, too - the heavy, wooden front door to Derek’s house opens, and his little sister, Cora, stands expectantly on the front step.

“Here goes nothing,” Stiles mutters, taking a breath and sharing a look of solidarity with Derek before getting out of the car.

"Jeez, someone's on the charm offensive," Cora says as they get close. Her eyes take in Stiles’ suit; she's in thigh-high socks and a worn, oversized sweater, and Stiles instantly feels way over-dressed.

"Muzzle, Cora," Derek mutters, cuffing her on the chin as he passes.

“Hey,” Stiles greets, jerking his head at her, but honestly, he's having a hard time focusing on any one thing.

If Stiles was impressed by the outside of the Hale house, then he's probably going to permanently keep his jaw dropped. The foyer is all marble and iron and plush carpet, and there's a decorative table in the middle of the floor with flowers on it that's bigger than the one Stiles eats off of at home. The ceiling appears to reach the roof of the entire house, with a glass dome casting an orange glow across the walls and down the winding staircase.

Stiles half expects a Disney princess to float down it, singing something about when her true love will arrive - complete with a flock of birds surrounding her - but so far no dice. Instead, he’s got the view of Derek, with his perfect rich-boy hair and designer clothes and star-athlete shoulders, framed in the sunlight, oblivious of the fact that he looks like a stock photo in a magazine. Like he belongs in places like this. Stiles can’t fathom being allowed to have something so beautiful.

"Mom?" Derek asks Cora, and Stiles involuntarily stiffens.

"Dining room.” She narrows her eyes in thought. “I can't figure out if the use of the good silverware is meant to impress or intimidate."

Stiles grunts involuntarily in discomfort.

"Don't listen to her," Derek soothes, resting a hand on his elbow, but Cora seems to be having way too much fun to let up on them any time soon. "Cora, don't you have a voodoo doll to finish?"

"Just because I don't dress like Ralph Lauren's Fall Catalog," she retorts, and Derek blows a harsh breath out through his nose, shaking his head in frustration. Seemingly embarrassed, he shoos her into movement. "Laura asked for live updates, by the way," she tells him, dragging her heels on the way into, what appears to be, a living room that could hold an entire football team.

Stiles, for his part, only continues to gape. He berates himself for not taking a shot of tequila or a bong hit before coming here. He wonders what Derek's mom's stance is on minors drinking wine with dinner?

No, it's probably best if he stays sober - that way, he can give the cab driver directions to pick him up if he needs to make an escape.

"Mom, Derek and Derek’s boyfriend are here!" Cora yells. Derek, flushing pink, gestures for Stiles to take a seat on the couch, which he does with shaky legs - only to jump straight back up when Derek's mother enters the room.

The only word, oddly, that Stiles can think of to describe her is 'regal'. She's tall, with a strong jawline and striking, dark eyes, and she walks into the room like she's used to people standing upon her entrance. Her hair is dark too, thick and lush like Derek's and falling about her shoulders like she used to wear it longer when she was younger. She must have been truly stunning; still _is_ , and she's dressed in something tailored and expensive-looking. Stiles hadn't really imagined what he thought Derek's mother would look like - something close to Cora, maybe, he’d thought vaguely - but it makes sense that anyone responsible for bringing Derek into the world would look like this.

"Mom, this is Stiles," Derek says - he, too, is standing. "Stiles, this is my mom, Talia."

"Mrs, sorry, _Ms_ Hale," Stiles says formally. He notes when she doesn't insist on first names. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Ms Hale says politely, taking his offered hand. "I was curious to see who'd so dramatically turned Derek's head."

Under her gaze, Stiles feels itchy and unworthy - but he gets the feeling that even if he were a trust-fund kid with a fancy car and the right last name, he’d still feel that way. He takes his hand back and resists the urge to muss up his hair. It took too damn long to get sitting down.

“What can I say? I'm hoping he hasn't figured out what a giant mistake he made,” Stiles quips self-deprecatingly, and her eyes take on a sharp, inquisitive look that he has trouble reading, but her mouth curls.

"Dinner will be a little while longer," she informs, gesturing for him to sit down. "I hope you like moussaka."

"Love it," he gushes, aware that he sounds fake as hell right now. He’s _pretty_ sure he likes it. Has he ever had it?

"Isn't Isaac coming?" Derek interrupts, looking around the room. Stiles feels himself slump ever so slightly that the focus is momentarily off him.

"Richard needed a word with him," Derek’s mom explains, and if Stiles isn't mistaken, her eyes dart to the staircase unhappily. "Cora, why don't you see what's keeping them?" Cora sighs heavily and melts off the couch to go look. If Ms Hale notices her attitude, she doesn't draw attention to it, which is most definitely purposeful. She turns back to Stiles, delicately crossing one leg over the other. "So, Stiles. Derek tells me your father is the Sheriff.”

“Uh yeah,” he croaks, then clears his throat. “You must have met him.”

“Only at political functions. He’s a good man.” _Do you take after him?_ her face seems to say.

“Well, they elected him twice, so...”

She leans against the arm of her chair. “I don’t remember you being at his inauguration. Either of them.”

“Uh, no, I, uh... couldn’t make it.” He’d been partying with a bunch of college kids in Lindale for the last one. This was mostly because, as he’d told his dad, since it was just the two of them left, Stiles took the re-election to mean that his dad clearly wanted to spend more time helping everyone else out rather than his own son.

Unfair, but not even the worst thing Stiles had said around that time. When he was convinced the world was out to get him.

“Mom, the oven’s beeping,” Cora says, re-entering the room, texting. Stiles notices movement beyond the doorway - Isaac, Derek’s younger stepbrother, and his father are there. Even from another room, Stiles can tell the atmosphere is frosty. Talia says something to Richard as she passes him, causing him to follow her and leaving Isaac to enter the room, looking slightly shell-shocked. Stiles watches, fascinated, as Derek shares a look that seems to check in on him and promise to talk later. He can tell they’re more than just stepbrothers.

“Uh, Isaac, this is Stiles.” Stiles raises a hand in a wave, but the kid just jerks his head at him. “C’mon, say hi.”

Isaac offers a put-upon _hello_ and Stiles swallows, already someone who doesn’t seem to approve.

“Hey, Isaac. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Isaac mutters. “We should move to the dining room.”

Derek sighs, leaning in as they start to walk, “Uh, I’ll explain later,” he says.

“You boned his not-girlfriend,” Cora puts in happily, and Stiles almost skids to a halt at the threshold of the dining room.

“Richard, meet Stiles,” Ms Hale says, pausing on her way back into the kitchen.

Cordial greetings are exchanged, but after a moment, Richard pauses with realization when he gets a proper look at Stiles. His face darkens.

“Huh,” he says stonily, his perma-tan bleeding even darker with irritation. “I didn’t realize we’d already been introduced.” Derek places himself between them at the table, no doubt guessing about the many run-ins Richard had with Stiles’ attitude. What can Stiles say? He’s allergic to tryhard-dicks.

“I forgot to mention it.” Derek waits until his stepfather has pulled out his own chair and taken a seat before he begins to do the same. Stiles, feeling adrift, finds himself mirroring Derek’s reactions, feeling like the simple act of eating dinner was way more than he bargained for. Should he be worried that Derek obviously didn’t tell them very much about him? Or should he be ashamed that Derek probably had to pick and choose what he could share?

“You know each other too?” Talia asks, setting down a large casserole in the middle of the table. It smells delicious, but Stiles isn’t sure he’ll be able to eat anything.

“This one was a pool boy at the country club.”

“He was a _waiter_ actually,” Derek clarifies, shaking out his napkin. “And he has a name.”

“I have to say, I’m curious,” Derek’s mom interjects, “Is that your given name?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derek turn with interest - it's one conversation they actually didn't have over the summer months.

"Uh, no, actually," he says, scratching at his cheek. Usually, he can make a quip about his ‘sense of style’ or 'whatever you want to call me, babe', but that doesn't exactly feel like it's going to work here. "My first name is a mishmash of hard-to-pronounce Polish consonants, and I guess I got sick of correcting people when I was little, so I decided to go by Stiles."

She raises an eyebrow. It hits Stiles how Derek-like the move is, but instead of being a turn-on or even endearing, he has to swallow past a terror-jerk in his throat and stuff his mouth full of salad.

"And you parents just let you do that?"

Derek’s head whips around to her irritably at that, “ _Mom._ ”

It's her inflection that makes Stiles’ hackles rise, though he’s determined not to show it. The insinuation that his parents - especially his mom, who isn't around to defend herself - did a poor job of raising him will always be a sore spot. Sure, Stiles has had his fair share of fuck-ups. He's rude and obnoxious and there are at least three businesses in downtown Beacon Hills which he can't visit anymore because of a broken heart or a broken relationship or broken _property_ left in his wake - but it's being _without_ a parent, if anything, that's to blame.

And Stiles is trying to break the habit of assigning blame.

He finishes the mouthful and dabs at his lips with his napkin. "My mom believed that we had the right to make certain choices for ourselves. The name was an old family one - she kinda had to choose it to keep with tradition, so I don't think she found it disrespectful when I didn’t want to use it. I wouldn’t have done it if she did; she was a big advocate for letting me make my own mistakes. I think it's helped me."

“Sounds awesome,” Cora mutters, stabbing at her moussaka. She jerks like she’s been kicked under the table, but Stiles can’t break eye contact with Ms Hale to figure out who it came from - probably Derek.

Ms Hale seems momentarily thrown by _past_ tense, realising belatedly, or even just having forgotten that she may have just insulted a dead person - but Stiles has heard worse, invited harsher words and sharper jibes - and he’s not in the habit of letting anyone talk shit on his parents. The thing is, he knows the place she’s coming from - protecting her own, and making sure Stiles isn’t going lead her son down a dark path.

“Sounds like she was a remarkable woman,” Ms Hale says finally, breaking the tension. There seems to be a modicum of respect in the statement, but whether it’s for Stiles or his mother, he can’t be sure.

“She was.” He tries not to say it coolly, but he’s not certain it worked.

“Claudia, wasn’t it?” Richard muses, chewing on a mouthful in thought. Stiles turns to look at him, instantly on edge. “Yeah. I think I met her once. Your dad had to come pick her up from the grocery store because she’d tried to walk a full cart out without paying. Fought security - mouth on her like a drunk sailor.” He pushes the food around on his plate, stabs at a salad, then looks up at Stiles, snorting. “Sheriff seemed to have a full plate at home back _then_ , too.”

If it’s the smirk, or the casualness that he comes out with the statement, Stiles doesn’t know. He feels his hands cramp, knuckles whitening on his clenched fists. Derek is standing up now, saying something, and so is his mom, maybe - but Stiles can only focus on breathing, wading through old techniques to regain control of his emotions.

This is Derek’s house. These are Derek’s family. This is important.

But Stiles remembers those times. He remembers being nine years old and _knowing_ that his mom was acting strangely. He remembers automatically making excuses or coming up with explanations for her behavior, even if he couldn’t explain it himself. He remembers learning that from his Dad.

“Frontotemporal Dementia,” he blurts. He only notices how noisy the room was when everyone goes silent. “It was, uh--her decision-making skills and memory were affected. It wasn’t like she...” He swallows. He’s still making excuses - he shouldn’t have to. Not anymore.

“We’re leaving.”

The command behind the statement startles him for a moment. Derek’s face is contorted, his jaw determined, and his eyes are softened in that one feeling Stiles hoped never to see from him. Pity.

“Derek, calm down. I’m sure Richard never--”

“No,” Derek barks. Even Cora looks shocked. “Don’t apologize for him. Don’t--” He swallows the sentence. “We’re leaving.”

He was ready to prove himself. He’d done all the research and run scenarios in his head; how he was going to talk around the facts and make himself seem like someone a parent would want their child to date. He was going to be honest, yet mature. He was going to make Talia Hale fall in love with him - but he wasn’t prepared for _this_.

One mention of his mom, and Stiles folded like a deck of cards.

He blinks at the hand held out in front of him, then looks up at his owner. He’s never seen Derek look so angry. Not even when he was mad at Stiles. He looks like a different person; like that easy kindness that colors everything about him has been stripped away, and he is a raw nerve. Stiles’ muddled brain tries to fathom the fact that it’s for _him._

Stiles takes the offered hand. It seems for a moment that Derek’s mother is going to protest, but something makes her stop - maybe the look on Derek’s face, or maybe the look on Stiles’.

The room is silent when they leave the table. It’s still silent when they walk through the foyer and out of the house. They’re still silent when Derek steers Stiles toward the car and opens the door for him, then gets in the driver’s side.

It’s silent when the engine starts. It’s silent when they reach the end of that ridiculous driveway and take the winding road through the trees, Derek’s hands tight on the wheel.

It’s silent in Stiles’ head, and he is twelve years old again, trying not to break.

__

Derek’s jaw hurts. It’s a strange feeling to register, above all other ones swimming around inside him right now, but he consciously tries to relax it because there are things that need to be said.

He knew Richard was an asshole. He knew the man had some kind of class complex - maybe because he wasn’t born into money and he doesn’t quite fit into the world he wants, no matter how much of the stuff he makes. He knew Richard had been in a foul mood, ever since Isaac came third at his swim meet yesterday, and dreaded to think of the conversation they’d been having before dinner. He knew all these things; he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t stop the man being a dick to his own son, and he didn’t like that his mom married someone so painfully beneath her in wit, charm and principle - but he could live with those, because they were other people’s decisions. Other people’s battles. Sometimes you have to learn to pick your own, or you spend your whole life fighting.

But Stiles. Stiles had come tonight for _him._ Stiles had agreed to be his boyfriend and put on a suit and spent time researching Derek’s family and wanted to stop and buy _flowers_. Stiles reassured Derek that everything was going to be okay, that he’d make Derek’s mom love him and make it easier for them to be together - and this is what Stiles got in return.

Derek pulls off the road. He takes the first track he can pick through the trees and stops in a clearing that’s thickly canopied by pines as old as the preserve itself. Pulling the car to a stop, he can feel Stiles looking at him with vague curiosity, but he immediately has to get out and pace. For all his trepidation, he can’t imagine how this could have gone any worse. He’d been sure that his mom would make disapproving noises and possibly, at first, even dislike Stiles - but he didn’t honestly think he’d come out of this being _ashamed_ of his home. The worst he’d expected was a lack of a blessing, but this...

The sun has mostly set now. Some point while Derek’s worlds collided and buckled, the world kept turning and it doesn’t seem fair somehow. It’s not fair that a bomb can go off in the middle of your life and it’s supposed to be okay.

“Derek.”

Stiles is leaning against the outside of the passenger side door. He looks like he’s been awake for twenty-four hours straight and has aged further in that time than anyone has the right to. He’s clutching one wrist with the other hand, shoulders shrunken and small.

Derek closes his eyes, planting his feet to face him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. He’s _such_ a--” He bites back, not being able to come up with a word that captures it. “If I had any idea, I’d never have invited you.”

“I know,” Stiles croaks. He says it to the ground, and Derek thought he’d seen every side to him, but this - defeated, quiet and resigned - is new. He hates it.

“It’s not even any of his business,” Derek spits, turning away. “He’s not my fucking father. He’s _nothing_ to me, and if he thinks that somehow treating you like that is gonna make me not want to be with you then--”

Stiles’ hand on his shoulder is spinning him around. The rest of the thought is swallowed in a kiss, as frantic and needy as if they’re in a sinking ship, a crashing plane - a building that’s about to crumble.

He feels Stiles’ fingers clutch at him, and there’s something about the insistence in the touch that makes Derek pull away, resting his forehead against Stiles’ temple - still touching, just catching breath.

“It’s never gonna work. There’s no way something any of them say could convince me to give you up.” He searches Stiles’ face, willing him to believe him, but he doesn’t seem to be able to meet Derek’s eye. Derek puts a hand on his cheek, holding his gaze, and Stiles finally looks back at him, searching.

He kisses him again. This time, there’s heat in it. Maybe if Stiles doesn’t believe his words, he’ll believe his actions. Derek walks them back until they hit the hood of the Camaro, his hands roaming over Stiles’ frame. “Nothing,” he reiterates. “Nothing they could say.”

Stiles nods dazedly and latches on to his mouth again, this time letting his lips wander to Derek’s neck, his usually sure, experienced movements edged with a feverish, questing need for _something._

Derek straightens up. “Get in the back seat.”

A crease morphs Stiles’ brow, and the lust-filled, morose haze lifts from confusion to realization to confusion again. He leans his head back. “Derek, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.”

Stiles swallows, his eyes roving beneath the delicate skin of his eyelids momentarily. “If this is because you feel guilty or whatever, I’m not gonna let you do this. I know how you feel, okay?”

“I don’t think you do,” Derek replies lightly, tilting his head. He’s got a swell of _affection_ rising in his throat. Something that’s threatening to spill over and he’s not convinced he should be stopping it, if it’s this strong.

The hand resting on Stiles’ flank weaves up to his neck, and Derek looks between his eyes and his lips, to each captivating beauty mark, to the cut of his jaw and the slope of his cheek. Something more powerful than he’s ever known is surging out of him, and instinctively he needs to show it, let Stiles know that he’s the cause.

“You’re amazing, and you gave everything tonight and it made me realize that I’m done waiting. I can’t imagine it being anyone but you. I don’t _want_ to imagine anyone but you.”

Stiles leans into him again, kissing him with the same ferocity, but Derek pulls it back, adding a gentle edge.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, mouthing his way over the light stubble on Stiles’ cheek. He can smell the hair product Stiles put in too much of and the fabric scent of his suit. “Don’t kiss me like you’re about to lose me - you’re not.” Stiles’ hands tighten, seemingly without forethought. He lets out a shuddering breath.

Derek reaches for the door handle, leading him to the back seat of the car. There, he climbs in on unsure legs and turns. The look on Stiles’ face is awestruck; his eyes are softer now, and there’s a vulnerable set to his mouth as he seems to wrestle with the decision. When Derek holds out a hand, Stiles slowly climbs in, placing his knees on the seat to hold himself over Derek and settling close enough to feel his breath. There is fading sunlight caught in his eyelashes, and Derek has never seen anything so wonderful, something he’d like to preserve and keep precious for a lifetime.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks quietly. His voice sounds almost fragile against the backdrop of the forest and the sounds it produces, but the message is clear. _Are you sure you want to take a chance on me?_ It’s the first time he’s actually said it, but Derek lets out an exasperated breath like it’s the hundredth.

“Yes,” Derek replies, smiling. “Now kiss me, and stop asking.”

Stiles scooches closer, the threat of a responding smirk flirting with his lips, and leans on the back of the seat, just a hairsbreadth away. “Maybe I like hearing you say yes,” he teases.

A little of his confidence comes back, and Derek kisses it right off his mouth, soaking it up like a familiar old comfort - Stiles is cocky and antagonistic and _beautiful_ and when he is, Derek feels like the world is righting itself, just a little. The kisses are slow - not _lazy_ , not when they feel charged with such potential energy that there could be a thunderstorm on the way - but Derek uses them as an excuse to catch his breath. Each time he kisses Stiles now, he has to rearrange the past with the present. The people they were during the summer feel like half-strangers - different lives, different worries, different situation.

The important similarities are there. Stiles, whether wordless or not, is checking with Derek before he does anything. His hands seem magnetized to every part of Derek’s body that leads straight to his dick, and he hasn’t forgotten a single one of them. Derek winds an arm around his lithe waist, and Stiles takes the hint instantly, moving a knee until he’s straddling Derek, cramped in the low roof of the sports car. It’s...not ideal

“This is the _one_ thing my jeep has over this beast,” he comments, tilting his head as he looks up to show a tantalizing column of skin that Derek can’t quite help but press his mouth to.

He’s hard already, and though Stiles can obviously feel it - and is straining against the fly of his own pants too - he seems to be singularly focused on Derek’s comfort. He hisses at the kiss, then grinds down on him, mouth pressed wetly to Derek’s forehead, hot breath fanning across his scalp in warm, humid waves.

“‘s’at feel good?” he murmurs, hands in Derek’s hair. Derek quests for skin beneath his shirt, rucking it out from his pants until he can splay his fingers possessively over Stiles’ back. He lets his head drop onto his boyfriend’s chest, nodding. Stiles curses, grinding again, and it finally starts to feel like Derek isn’t the only one affected. It’s not enough.

He opens Stiles’ shirt, dragging his lips tenderly over the skin. He’s warm, and solid, and his heart sounds powerful when Derek listens for it, and he thinks this must be what all those cheesy love songs are about, when they’re written from true experience. When he brushes his bottom lip off a nipple and Stiles jerks, he can feel his heart tripping.

It’s getting warm in the confined space. Stiles shrugs the shirt down over his - _considerable,_ how could Derek have forgotten? - shoulders and Derek works at his fly, helping to free him and catching his breath on his now-exposed collarbone when he does. It’s almost dark out, so Derek mostly feels his way over Stiles’ skin, gauging his reactions by sound and sensation. He wraps a hand around him, slicks him up a little with his own precum and Stiles kisses him thoroughly, shakily, like he’s lost in the act of it. The taste of his mouth and the rasp of their stubble is the sole sensation for a long moment, until Stiles leans back, sucks in a breath, and bats Derek’s hands away to get to his cock.

“Out,” he grunts, and Derek would laugh if he didn’t feel the same urgency gathering in the pit of his stomach. Sweet, momentary relief when Stiles unzips him, and then the purest torture when he caresses his fingers over the head.

Derek startles. Even in the dim light, he can tell Stiles is fighting a grin.

“You have anything? I might--”

“Glove compartment.”

Stiles leans back to look at him, but Derek just bumps his nose into his cheek. “We had a lot of, uh, buildup over the summer.” he confesses quietly. “And my house seems crowded sometimes.” He’d probably feel more embarrassed about saying this to anyone but Stiles, who, instead of teasing him, lets out a laugh that’s almost _proud._

“Thank god it wasn’t just me.” He plants a smacking kiss on Derek before clambering, pants-open and shirtless, to the front to retrieve the little bottle. Derek takes the opportunity to disentangle his pants from his legs, clumsy in his eagerness. When he’s mostly ready, he sees Stiles hesitate before folding the front seats forward for space. He settles back on Derek and grins.

“Better.”

Derek didn’t think the act of dripping lube onto a palm would be necessarily sexy, but his dick definitely reacts to the sight - and even more so when Stiles slicks himself up, all hooded eyes and bad-boy smirk like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Derek reaches out, mouth dry with gaping, to join him, gathering the slick in his hand and squeezing a little when he gets to the tip. Stiles’ own hands fall away and end up on Derek’s shoulders, one then migrating to return the favor.

His breath leaves him at the first touch. Stiles leans in, mouth searching, and seals their lips together. His tongue is a tease, a sweet rhythm to his hand, and they somehow make it work, folded together in the cramped back seat of Derek’s car, the still forest around them and oblivious to the sunset. There’s a familiar fire building up beneath the surface of Derek’s skin - the most delicious of aches pawing to be let free.

With a seatbelt socket right under his butt cheek, his left leg has gone slightly numb, it all takes second priority to coaxing more of those fucking _sounds_ out of Stiles. He huffs and hisses, pants and grunts. At one point, Derek involuntarily squeezes right under the head of his dick and Stiles slumps forward on to his shoulder in shocked pleasure and stays there. It’s _fantastic._

“How--How d’you wanna do this,” Stiles says, right by Derek’s ear. It takes a moment for Derek to put meaning to the words, lost as he is in the acts of exploration and reciprocation. He stutters his movements, stilled by his own hesitance. “‘Cuz,” Stiles continues, ”I was- _ngh-_ kinda hoping you could-- _fuck..._ I thought about riding you, but--”

Derek has to close his eyes at the idea of it. Something in him settles with relief. He _wants_ to get to that point with Stiles; being taken care of - _filled,_ his mind supplies - but he doesn’t know if he’s quite _there_ yet. And Stiles, he makes these _sounds_ and these expressions that are so... And Derek wants to bask in those, take credit for them, without being distracted by such daunting territory.

He nods against Stiles’ cheek. Belatedly remembering their pseudo rule to verbalize stuff in this regard, he rasps, “Yeah, I-- _yeah._ ”

Stiles takes his hand and presses the little bottle into it. Derek is shaking, and when Stiles meets his eye, he smiles softly, runs his nose along Derek’s brow. “Jus’ take it slow. It’s just me.”

Derek swallows, pours probably more lube on his hands than he’ll need - but ‘just’ Stiles is maneuvering his boxer-briefs off and it’s not like he can be held accountable for his actions. The light is a barely-there play of shadow and illumination, but Derek thinks that Stiles, barely-dressed and hard, is probably enough to keep him semi-aroused for the rest of the year. He tugs at himself cautiously, willing his dick to calm the hell down as Stiles brackets him again, leaning to rest a cheek on his shoulder as he guides Derek’s hand behind him.

“Slow, yeah? It’s been a while.”

If Derek’s cock got the message to calm down, it forgot it right then. He nods, then cautiously finds the spot by touch - that tight little furl in the center of everything. Derek runs a finger over it experimentally, heart jolting as Stiles’s entire body does.

“Sorry, first touch,” he explains through a smirk.

Derek is distracted then, circling his forefinger and matching each movement up to Stiles’ reactions. He wishes he could see his face better, but if the way Stiles’ hand is tightening on the back of his neck is any indication, he’s doing something right. The first time he catches on the rim, Stiles latches his mouth on Derek’s shoulder and _whines_.

“Okay?”

“‘S good. This is my favorite part,” he confesses almost shyly. Derek, emboldened, moves his finger again, listening to Stiles’ breathed curses as he begins moving in rhythm, right up to the second knuckle, his cock leaking between them.

“More?” Derek croaks. God, his voice sounds ridiculous, but he’s sure he’s never been this turned on in his life, and he’s barely even started. He cradles the swell of that perfect butt in his free hand, palm slipping against the soft fuzz with sweat.

Stiles nods, so Derek eases another in. He takes it so beautifully that Derek think this might be enough - he could probably just come right now and be satisfied if it wasn’t for the encouraging gibberish Stiles is spewing into his ear, guiding him, asking for more and _aching_ for the stretch.

He is loose and almost _sloppy_ by the time he finds Derek’s mouth and kisses him, pulling him out of the rhythm of it. “Condom. Wallet.”

It’s a struggle to force his hands to comply. He gets Stiles’ pants but has to hand them over to get out the damn thing. Stiles rips open the little square and leans back, strokes Derek a few times, though he barely needs it.

When it’s on, and they’re lined up, Derek turns so he can see Stiles’ face. “I’m so glad it’s you,” he tells him. Everything stops for a second. Stiles seems so punched through with the statement that he accidentally lowers himself, takes the tip.

It’s a gradual pleasure. Stiles, recovered, takes over from Derek’s nervous fumblings to ease down at his own pace. He looks drunk on it, his chest heaving, slick with perspiration, his hair stuck to his forehead with same.

He snorts incredulously once fully seated, “ _Shit_ your-- _hnf,_ I might stay here forever, that cool?”

Derek buries his face in his throat, completely overwhelmed, mouths at the moisture. “Mm-hmm.” Stiles strokes has his head, letting him get accustomed to it, acclimated to each new feeling and the enormity of it all. Derek can only press his mouth to him dumbly, roving his hands over his body in an effort to soak up the moment.

The first time Stiles grinds his hips, Derek might possibly black out. The tight clasp of Stiles around him is like nothing he’s ever felt - warm, powerful, intimate. Derek has to grab at the seatbelt bracket just to give himself the illusion of stability, but each time Stiles moves, it’s like the feeling goes from his legs all over again. He clutches at the guy, being taken along in wave after wave of overwhelming rapture, that same heat boiling in the pit of his stomach.

And the _sounds._

They’re both lost in it, breathing and grunting the occasional curse. He presses his cheek to Stiles and their skin drags over one another, slick with sweat and heat and the proximity of two bodies. Derek’s shirt is pulled open at some point by clever fingers. Stiles’ hands disappear inside and each touch is a shock of pleasure heightening the rest and magnifying each beautiful thing happening to Derek’s dick.

He feels his balls tighten, warning that the heat is threatening to spill over.

“Stiles, I’m--”

“Yeah, come on...”

Derek does. He crashes over the horizon with a cry, feeling like it’s been drawn from somewhere deep in the center of him, rippling to fruition in hot spurts into that tight embrace. Stiles presses an open mouth to Derek’s temple, whispering comfort and encouragement to him as he bears down, deepening the sensation.

When Derek’s vision clears, Stiles has a fist around himself, feverishly stroking to completion, slack-jawed and ravished.

Derek makes a half-hearted movement, but Stiles grunts, “No,” biting his lip. “Stay, just a--”

He paints Derek’s belly with his orgasm; thick, heavy drops coating his abs until Stiles, too, is spent and he simply rubs the head of his cock hypnotically over the mess, an enraptured smile on his mouth.

“Y’really love doing that,” Derek slurs, trying to sound put-out. It’s not the first time Stiles has jacked off there - it’s _definitely_ one of his kinks.

“I’ll stop doing it if you really mind,” he huffs, pressing his smile yet again into Derek’s cheek. He peppers kisses to it, sweet in juxtaposition to what they just did.

What Derek just did - with a _guy_ \- for the first time.

“Hey,” he says, shaking Stiles a little until he lifts his mussed head and turns the dopey grin on him.

He lifts his brows expectantly. “Yeah?”

“I meant it,” Derek tells him, hoping the words are as weighted to Stiles as they are for him. “I’m really glad it was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ask only that you suspend disbelif for how many things can be done by two almost-adult males in the back of a Camaro.


	9. The Neighborhood Thinks I'm Trashy And No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles second-guesses, Derek is all-in, Cora is sorry - and something is up with Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life isn't so crazy yet that I couldn't get another chapter in, so here you go! I planned to write 5k chapters but I don't even know the last time I stuck to that one.
> 
> Thank you to everyone bookmarking, subscribing and commenting - I check it all!! Usually on my phone, which explains the lack or replies - but please know your contributions aren't floating out into the void.
> 
> There's a little biphobic remark said to Stiles at the start of this one, but it's pretty much a given that whoever said it is an idiot.
> 
> Special thanks to LiteraryOblivion for hashing out some plotting for me, and the ever-wonderful Loveandallthat for being my faithful beta.

The thing about being involved with the most popular guy in school, Stiles has noticed, is that it seems like your relationship is automatically and unquestionably public property. Normally in similar situations, now was the part where he would lap up the attention, throw a few sly comments out into the atmosphere, and watch them ignite as everyone ran around under the fallout.

This, though - this thing with Derek, that is - was different already.

Stiles felt it on the Monday morning almost as soon as he hopped out of the jeep and cut across the quad. There was this... _shadow_ following him. Before, when the news broke that he and Derek were dating, it was an abstract kind of scrutiny. A whispered conversation here, a furtive look there; nothing that couldn't be ignored - but the second Stiles and Derek made things Facebook Official, it was like everyone received permission to _talk_ to him about it. And everyone, apparently, lost their damn mind.

"Hey, Stiles! Is it true Derek Hale got an eight-pack over the summer?"

"Yo, how'd you turn _Hale?_ Nice work!"

"Bet he screws like a machine!"

"What's he packin' Stilinski?"

And Stiles - the _old_ Stiles - would have taken pride in these questions. Probably would have amped it up and spread some gossip, showed off his beautiful prize and taken advantage of his full bragging rights. Maybe even exaggerated some things to come out better out of it. As a bonus, he found if he was enough of an ass, he usually never had to do the actual breaking-up - people got mad enough at him to do the dirty work, and then it was on to the next one. It was kind of a system, tried and tested with a string of unsuspecting conquests - but when you're with someone you care about...

The more he replays past behavior, the less he wants to repeat it.

Derek had dropped him home on Friday with knee-weakening kiss and eyes big and earnest enough to belong on a baby animal cartoon. This was followed by a weekend full of coy texts and more emojis than any self-respecting teenage boys would be comfortable admitting to, and a whirlwind meetup on Saturday that Stiles instigated just to make sure Derek was really doing as okay as he said he was. They’d met at a gas station and ate burritos, sharing sticky, burning kisses. It was _awesome._

The weekend was like a beautiful, protective bubble shielding them from the world and everyone else in it. In the cold light of Monday, he was being cautious, all too aware of the major step Derek had taken - had _chosen_ to take - with Stiles, of all people. If someone wanted to burst that - to ruin this for Derek for no other reason than their own curiosity, they’d have trouble.

Stiles himself was still processing. In many ways, what happened at dinner on Friday was no more than he'd expected, and some part of him was prepared for it. But it’s different when a vague eventuality becomes your reality. He obviously was less prepared than he'd thought. It was significant, though, this thing that was happening between them. Huge, really. Stiles knew it. He could feel the weight of it every time he thought about Derek or flashed back to the time in the car, slick with sweat, sharing breaths and more of themselves than Stiles has probably shared with anyone his whole life. He could feel it flaring up behind his ribs, this fierce fury every time someone talked about Derek like he wasn’t as _incredible_ as Stiles knew him to be. Every time someone reduced him to nothing more than his most obviously appealing qualities.

And Stiles was terrified. Terrified of feeling this much, of how fast it was happening without his say-so. Terrified of uncharted waters and that his boat wasn’t strong enough.

"So, even the Golden Boy isn't immune to your brand of corruption," Danny says, leaning against his closed locker and cutting into Stiles’ thoughts. For some reason, Beacon Hills students' lockers were all lumped into the same area - a dark, underused corridor of the school near the science wing, and Stiles’ is two down from Danny's. It sucks, because he never actually _used_ his locker before this year, aside from stashing something he didn’t feel like carrying - but new leaf and all that. Downside is, he’s constantly surrounded by people he’d rather not see.

Stiles pulls out his binder for Physics before belatedly realizing that he doesn’t need it yet. He shoves it back in.

"Give it a rest, Danny."

"Whoa. What's with you?"

Stiles slams the door shut. The deep breath he takes doesn't dissipate his shitty temper.

"What's with me?" he blinks, half hysterical. "What's _with_ me is that in the last week I went from being completely unattached to being one half of the Beacon Hills’ hottest couple, which _apparently_ is a thing. What's _with_ me is that since I walked into this fucking place today, everyone's been making shitty comments and asking rude ass questions and I _know_ why they're doing it - because it's _me_ , and I could always be counted on to supply them with fresh bullshit before this - but I just know someone's gonna say something in front of Derek and he's the last--”

Stiles doesn't finish. Instead, he thumps the side of his fist on the thin locker door and hates it for not denting.

Danny simply raises his eyebrows. "Wow, and here I was thinking there was a formless vacuum between your lungs."

"Eat me," Stiles spits, voice hollow.

"I have. It was so good you cried, remember?" Fuck him for looking so damn _pleased_ with himself.

"That's the thing with faking it, dude - if you do it right, nobody knows you're faking."

"Sure, Stiles. Whatever." He shoulders off the neighboring locker and starts to back away. Something on the ground seems to catch his eye, however, and Stiles follows his line of sight curiously. _Oh._

The brochure for the contest.

It had taken a little more convincing on Stiles’ end than he had initially let on to get hired for the play. Lydia wasn’t to be bargained with, obviously, and Stiles didn’t even try - but her mom...

Natalie was satisfied with a solid promise to really _think_ of entering the contest and, well Stiles still hadn’t really thought about it. Not seriously. He’d thought about it in a _wouldn’t it be really cool and convincing of my new attitude if I did this_ kind of way - but it’s not like he’d started thinking about projects or anything.

“Wow,” Danny comments, reading off the flyer. “Embracing the nerd side?”

“Says the juvenile hacker,” Stiles retorts, trying for unaffected.

He’s...embarrassed, he finds. It shocks him, the foreignness of it. Stiles has built a life on being shameless with all aspects of himself; his body, his wit, his sexuality. It’s a cold rush to realize how easily it can get flipped over in one swift move so the edge cuts into him, especially in front of someone like Danny.

“Hey, hacking’s totally in, now,” Danny argues, turning his dimples full-force. He’s as good-looking as he was when Stiles first decided he had to have him - better even, with age and sharper edges and loss of innocence sculpting him further. An angel with dirty secrets. “We got our own TV show and everything. I seem to remember you thinking it was pretty cool.”

Stiles isn’t getting sucked into this. Shame soon turns to anger at his own feeling of vulnerability. He doesn’t want to deal with this scrutiny, not after everything else he’s had to go through today.

 

Leaning his head back, put-upon, he adds finality to his voice, saying, “I don’t know why we’re having this discussion. It’s none of your business, okay?”

“Hey, it’s not like _I_ give a shit - I just never figured _you_ would,” Danny muses aloud, flipping through the competition rules and photos of last year’s prize winners. “You’re really going all in for this guy, huh?”

And there it is.

There’s a curious smirk on Danny’s face that Stiles definitely doesn’t approve of. It’s the kind of smirk that has a direct intention; that only someone who’s seen your orgasm face could use against you.

“Dude, what did I just say? I haven’t even decided to go in for it,” Stiles grits out guardedly, readjusting the strap of his backpack in nervous irritation. He quickly snaps the brochure out of Danny’s grasp and waves it in his face. “Just shut the fuck up about it.”

Dismissing this is all so much easier when Derek’s around, Stiles realizes.

“Fine, touchy,” Danny replies lightly, stepping back with his hands raised. There’s something yet even more antagonistic about him right now, and Stiles feels it cutting into him, pulling away at the gradual layers of armor he’s built up over the years and reinforced with bullshit.

“When did you get to be such a dick?”

“I’m not the one who up and changed, Stiles,” Danny comments, and coming from him, something about it especially stings. Danny wasn’t a great love in Stiles life - he’s not sure he’d ever use the word to describe what they’ve been to each other - but they at least understood one another. Danny’s judgement is acrid, like they were in the game together and Stiles is the failure bowing out early. Like Stiles has no mind of his own - like he’s giving something of himself up by being with Derek - but he’s _not_.

Right?

 

> “You’re going to be attending the pool, mostly,” Jacqui told him, heels clacking against the marble. She came to a stop at the end of the bar, peering through the glass outer wall to the poolside. Her Bar Manager Suit was ill-fitting and she looked like she was afraid to move too much in it, and Stiles could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the band of her watch.
> 
> The club was still relatively quiet, but a few people milled around in the sunshine in the terracotta-tiled lounging area, or in the corners of the dark interior bar as CNN played silently on the many flatscreens, set to chart music piped over the sound system and echoed outside. The whole place was slate and wrought iron and mahogany, and Stiles wasn’t sure what the alcoholic smell permeating the air was, but he’d place bets that it was some kind of Scotch older than he was. The scent of _money._
> 
> It was barely summer yet, and the younger kids wouldn’t be out of school until next week, but Stiles spied a few people his own age. He still hoped not to run into anyone he actually knew from school or otherwise
> 
> “By July, most of our more experienced staff get the choice whether to work out there or not, and the temperatures can be pretty unforgiving - so it’s your privilege as a new hire to keep our guests hydrated and replenished with whatever they desire.” She managed to make it sound both exciting and sarcastic; Stiles wasn’t sure which way he was supposed to take it.
> 
> He fidgeted with the collar of his polo shirt. The material was still stiff out of the packaging, its logo stark against the yellow. It was going to be _super_ hard to pick anyone up in this get up, he had to admit; maybe that was Dad’s plan all along.
> 
> Operation Good Boy Stiles. Operation Keep It In Your Damn Pants. At least Jacqui wasn’t the only one putting on a uniform and playing a part.
> 
> Outside, a young brunette in a blood-red bikini and expensive-looking sunglasses was animatedly yelling into the pool at two splashing shapes. A boy with sand-colored hair then appeared at the edge, blinking water out of his eyes and pushing up on the side to talk to her. They seemed companionable, easy to laugh and fully immersed in the newfound freedom of summer. Stiles wondered what it was like, having no worries like that. Knowing exactly what your place in the world was and never disappointing your parents.
> 
> “It’s your responsibility to get to know faces and names. We try to make everyone feel at home, even if they’re just here as guests of members,” Jacqui was saying. She flipped through Stiles’ resumé and made an unhappy face. He knew how it appeared - he hadn’t managed to hold on to a job for longer than a month since he’d started _having j_ obs. Sometimes it was of his own volition, mostly it was his employer’s. Was it Stiles’ fault he liked to be treated with a little fucking respect as he worked? Where in the job description did it say he’d have to scrub toilets, wash windows, fake a smile for eight hours straight?
> 
> “I see you have a little serving experience,” she observed. “We offer a different standard of service to Dessario’s, I’m sure you’ve realized, but the principle is the same.”
> 
> _Will I be expected to put up with condescending dicks here, too?_ he thought, raising a brow.
> 
> As if reading his mind, Jacqui closed the folder containing his resumé and leaned on it. Her eyes were shrewd, and she lowered her voice to say, “Look, the people here? Sometimes they don’t even notice how they come off. Sometimes they do, that’s true, but sometimes they don’t. You just need to bite your tongue and deal with it.”
> 
> Outside, a second boy was exiting the pool. Only, the term _boy_ didn’t seem to fit. Stiles had once led a game of Strip Beer Pong at a frat party and he’d still never seen a body like that in real life. He was all... _taut._ Built like a swimmer, but with the legs of someone who spent plenty of time on a field. His hair, thick, dark and slick with water gleamed almost blue-black in the sun. He was heavy-browed, moderately stubbled, but something about the smile - young, fresh, confident - told Stiles he wasn’t looking at someone all that much older than he was. As more of this.. _.specimen_ was revealed in that slow-motion, movie-moment tease, Stiles had to force himself to blink against the dryness of the bar’s AC. Everything from the smooth lines of the guy’s chest to his slender waist and the thick, tantalizing brush of his lower belly teased sensuality and the _best_ kind of distraction - and Stiles, in that split second of looking, forgot every self-imposed - and _Dad_ -imposed - rule.
> 
> This could be bad. Really bad - but _so good._
> 
> “And if I can’t?” he asked Jacqui, aware of her eyes on him. “Keep my mouth shut, I mean.”
> 
> She huffed out a breath, weary already. “Then be smart about it. You’re here as a favor to the sheriff. If you can’t behave yourself, if you can’t stay out of trouble - at least play the game and do it in a way nobody can prove.”
> 
> He tore his eyes away from the guy at the pool finally, reading a look on her face that made him instantly like her a little more. She gathered up his resumé and contract and shuffled them on the counter; the snap of the plastic and paper against it punctuating their conversation.
> 
> He watched her mouth curve into a wry smile. “Welcome aboard, Troublemaker,” she said.

Danny’s expression is knowing and impossibly cocky. "Listen, when you get bored with this one - like you _always_ do - give me a call."

"Fuck you," Stiles snaps, the hot burn of emotion gathering behind his eyes. Whatever they say about Derek, Stiles knows most of it isn’t true - it’s what they say about _him_ that stings.

Danny clucks his tongue to his teeth, his back to Stiles now as he turns the corner and calls out, “Yeah, you did that, too.”

* * *

 

“Derek Hale?”

Derek throws his backpack down and wedges himself into the chair. “Uh, here.”

It’s been one of those days. Since Derek hasn’t had a direct conversation with his mom since Friday, she’s taken to more unconventional measures to get him to talk to her. The latest of which involved hiding his keys in the hope that he’ll be forced to come to her and ask for them. No such luck on her part; he’s just lucky Erica had the number for a reliable cab company.

Then there was the Spanish oral quiz which he’d barely passed because he’d forgotten about it with all the Stiles drama - and the _good_ Stiles parts, too.

If anything, how Stiles has been with him over the weekend has cemented in Derek’s head that he couldn’t have picked a better person to share that experience with. Stiles has been attentive, approachable, and the rushed burrito date they’d had on Saturday night was like something from some cheesy rom-com - Derek wouldn’t admit to anyone how his stomach swoops when he thinks back on it. The thing is, the only impact on them as a unit is that there _hasn’t_ been an impact - it feels...right. Aside from the whole parental freeze-out and poor result in Spanish class, that is.

Today, Sra. Calavera wanted to speak to him about his quiz after class, and _that_ spilled into his lunch period and he’d had to speed-eat a chicken salad, and now he’s got the only free seat in homeroom - next to Scott McCall.

Derek’s struck by the fact that he’s never before been alone with Scott. From his limited knowledge, he knows Scott and Stiles have known each other since kindergarten, that Scott is captain of the Beacon Hills High lacrosse team, that he works in the animal clinic where Derek and Stiles had their second first date, and that he used to date Allison Argent but is now with a new transfer student. They don’t share any classes together, and aside from playing against him a couple times in lacrosse, they’ve barely interacted, considering the fact that Derek is dating his best friend. From the expression on Scott’s face as he studies Derek, the same idea is occurring to him.

“Hey,” Derek says genially. “I guess we’ve never been introduced - I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you.”

Scott smiles - it’s an endearing thing that makes him look simultaneously younger and trustworthy. “Yeah, you too, man. Have a good time on Friday?”

Derek is momentarily taken aback - either Scott is being sarcastic, referring to the dinner, or he’s making a lewd joke, referring to _after..._ but his expression hints at neither, which throws Derek for a loop. Doesn’t he know?

“Um...”

“And if I can have everyone’s attention, please,” Ms Winwood cuts in, pulling their attention back to the front of the room. “I’ve been instructed to inform you that there’s going to be a special dance held this weekend to celebrate the union of our two schools - the Unity Dance.”

An interested murmur ripples around the room; Scott looks pleased, right away pulling his phone out to send a surreptitious text.

“There’s going to be entertainment from both student bodies, and those students whom are single are encouraged to ask someone from the other school to accompany them.”

“I guess you have that covered,” Scott whispers, grinning at him. Derek offers a smile back; would Stiles even want to go?

Scott’s eyes catch on something behind Derek, and the easy grin falters into something soft and sad. Derek glances back - Allison.

She looks just as sad, and once she schools her face into a smile, says, “Sounds like fun. Taking, um, Kira?”

Scott holds his phone up. “Yeah, I think so.” He nods to her crossed legs “I guess you can actually wear your heels to this one, ‘stead of worrying about being too tall for your date,” he jokes.

Derek feels like he’s intruding on something by watching, but it’s not as if he can just up and move - that would be painfully obvious. Allison’s smile is genuine now, and she laughs behind her knuckles.

“Yeah, I guess I could.”

“Okay, figure it out later,” their teacher interrupts sharply. “This time is for study and homework. Keep it down.”

Scott turns back to face front, a contented expression making him look even kinder. When he glances at Derek, he raises a brow - owing, probably, to the look of apprehension directed back at him.

“What’s up?” Scott hisses.

Derek chews on the thought.

“You think Stiles would go?” he asks, palms already starting to sweat, because he’s never going to feel cool and collected where Stiles is concerned.

Scott cocks his head, endearingly thoughtful. “Usually, I’d say no - but for you?” He lifts a shoulder. “Stiles has been doing a lot of things he normally wouldn’t.”

* * *

Cora Hale looks _pissed._

“Stiles.”

Stiles looks to Scott, shrugs and gestures for him to carry on to class. Scott gives him a worried look; Stiles knows he’s been quiet all day, had been AWOL all weekend, but Stiles doesn’t have the energy to confide it all yet. Not even to Scott. He’s exhausted, by all of it. It’d be so much easier if he didn’t care.

When Scott disappears, he turns back to her. “Cora,” he says, folding his arms.

Talking to any of the Lahey-Hales would have him on edge, but he supposes Cora’s probably the lesser of four evils. He feels familiar pangs of guilt for straining things in Derek’s house, but it’s not like he can show up and play family mediator, right?

She seems to wait until most of the foot traffic has continued on and fixes her eyes on him. She looks like a darker, feminine, angsty version of Derek. Beautiful, but in an intimidating way. Stiles wonders idly if Derek would be like this if he had a bigger chip on his shoulder, or didn’t trust so easily. Would he stalk around in a leather jacket and a scowl too?

“I wanted to talk to you,” she starts. She takes her hair and flips it over the opposite shoulder, large, black-rimmed eyes searching around for eavesdroppers. It must be a nervous habit, not unlike Derek’s arm-folding. Stiles doesn’t talk, just waits. “I wanted to say sorry.”

That... he was not expecting.

“Sorry?”

Cora huffs through her nose. “Look, Richard is an asshole and he shouldn’t have treated you like that. Mom’s worse for letting him. It’s...not fun around our house.” Before Stiles can retort, she lifts her chin. “Not that that’s your fault! It’s just--” She lets out a breath. “Derek seems to like you a lot, even after you were a jackass, so… Sorry.”

It’s the strangest apology Stiles has ever received - but maybe it isn’t, maybe it’s just that Stiles isn’t used to hearing them.

“Uh, okay?”

She straightens up, obviously feeling like she’s accomplished something. “Okay. Keep, uh, making my brother happy.” She bats him on the arm and walks off, as a pack of terrifying freshmen girls in leggings and similar heavy makeup approach, all teasing smiles and “slut” pet names. Cora rolls her eyes, yet joins the ranks.

Stiles watches them go, still surprised. Of all likely things to happen, he would have put that way down on the list. Stiles isn’t holding his breath for acceptance into Derek’s family, and if Derek wants to spend the time until he realizes that going on dates, having sex and learning each others’ bodies, then Stiles isn’t going to discourage that; he’ll take what he can get right now. Still, it unbalances him.

As the hallway fills again, he decides to take a detour outside, maybe find out where Derek is. At least that’s one place where everything makes sense.

* * *

“Gonna hit up the weight room,” Boyd informs, jerking his head upstairs. “Coming?”

“I could probably use the help,” Isaac mumbles, eyeing up his own arms. Boyd gives him a faux-sympathetic nod, expertly stepping out of the way when Isaac attempts to push him back in the pool.

“Hey, do you want a spotter or not?” Boyd asks him through a laugh, hands up to fend off further attack.

Isaac scowls. “I’ll ask Derek to do it.” He turns hopefully to Derek, whose heart sinks a little. He wasn’t planning on hanging around here much longer.

Taking cue from Derek’s unsure expression, Boyd smirks, “Outta luck, Lahey.”

“You two suck since you started getting laid again, you know that?”

Derek stops. Boyd eyes him with interest, but doesn’t press the issue. It’s part of the reason Derek thinks Boyd may have ruined him for all future friendships - nobody’s ever going to ‘get it’ as quickly and as easily as Boyd can with simply a look.

“Where did you get _that_ idea?” Derek scoffs, cuffing Isaac on the head.

“Because you were gone way longer on Friday than it takes to drive to the other side of Beacon Hills? Oh, and I’m not _twelve._ ”

Boyd laughs; Derek doesn’t even deign to argue, and instead stretches his muscles out, the distinctive feeling of chlorinated water evaporating off heated skin making his shoulders itch. It’s a free period for Boyd and he - the last of the day which meant the pool was pretty much empty and too good an opportunity to pass up with company - even for Isaac.

His time is getting even better; if he recreates that in the next meet, doesn’t listen to his dad, he could win the thing. Derek is proud.

“And Derek is the _only_ one getting laid, for the record,” Boyd clarifies, not meeting either of their eyes. “Erica and I are not...anything. I’m gonna ask her to the Unity Dance, though.”

The Unity Dance - celebrating the first month of integrated education between Devenford Prep ad Beacon Hills High School. Derek was struck by the realization that for once, because of his earlier conversation with Scott McCall, he wasn’t _dreading_ the thing. Usually, the whole question of how to get out of going to it and bringing a date would be the biggest hurdle. Junior Prom was made considerably easier by the fact that Paige was there and willing to use him as a shield against all the unwanted attention she’d likely get, and vice versa. This time, though...

He’d kind of been daydreaming about how Stiles would look all dressed up under the multi-colored lights and letting Derek do dumb things like dance with him and introduce him as his boyfriend to the rest of his teammates and take photos. If Stiles would come, that is. Derek isn’t quite sure what fall into Stiles’ ‘lame’ category.

“So, it’s only a matter of time,” Isaac grumbles, like there’s no possible scenario where Erica would turn down Boyd. It’s beautifully naive - and probably accurate. “You know Heather’s dating Garrett now?”

Ah, the true source of Isaac’s frustration. “Isn’t that a good thing? Means she’s still dating within the school, and anyway, Garrett’s kind of a Jackson Whittemore wannabe.”

“What’s good about that?” Isaac frowns.

“It means that once she realizes what a dick he is, she’ll want someone the opposite,” Boyd supplies, clapping Isaac on the back and leaving a pink handprint on his wet skin. Derek offers him a grateful smile out of Isaac’s indignant line of sight.

“Huh, maybe you’re right, ” Isaac muses, recovering enough to then look buoyant. He turns in the direction of the changing rooms. “C’mon, I need to bulk up.”

“And the boy is back,” Boyd mutters. “Sure you’re not coming?” he asks Derek.

“Nah, I’m gonna head out,” he declines, hanging back to allow them into the dressing room before him. Truthfully, he has yet to see Stiles today and he’s hoping to seek him out before the rehearsal, gauge his thoughts on the dance - but he’s got a feeling Boyd knows that.

While the guys take quick rinses and change into fresh workout clothes, Derek digs out his phone and shoots off a text to Stiles, feeling out where in the school grounds he could be. He doesn’t really know a whole lot about what Stiles gets up to when they’re not together; Derek is usually the busy one, what with training and the musical and everything. He just assumes Stiles hangs out with his friends a lot, looking like a 90s teen heartthrob and smirking at people.

He calls out goodbyes to Boyd and Isaac as he wipes droplets off his forehead, expecting to be alone when the door closes. He isn't.

"Stiles," he says, feeling instantly happier. It's weird; Derek has trouble remembering a time when the sight of him, with his lazily tousled hair, plaid tied around his waist, t-shirt rolled at the sleeves caused him anything but this pure, blind elation.

It's just the look on his face that gives him pause.

"Hey, you," Stiles says. The smile he offers is wan. Derek's hyper-aware that he's in swim trunks, wet and pink from exertion but for once, it doesn't feel like he's being drunk in with a single, burning look. Stiles keeps darting his gaze around the room - to his hand on the locker, his feet.

"Everything okay?" Derek says, stepping closer. He can't seem to get a read on Stiles' mood, and scrutinizes him. There’s something blurry about the edges of him; frenetic about his efforts to be still. "You didn't have to come down here - I was just seeing if you were free now too, before rehearsal."

Stiles frowns, his smile intentionally unaffected. "Yeah, course. I wasn't far." He meets Derek's eyes for the first time and says, genuinely, "I just wanted to see you."

Derek closes the distance, kisses his temple, runs a hand through the shorn hairs at the back of Stiles' neck.

"I'm glad," he confesses, inhaling the scent of shampoo and fresh air. He’s never going to get tired of hearing Stiles actually _tell_ him he wants to be around him.

"How has everything been?" Stiles murmurs, dipping to run his nose through the water beads still clinging to Derek’s shoulders. His nose feels cold, colder than Derek is now that he’s exposed to the air. He must’ve come from outside.

Derek takes a second to catch up to the conversation; they'd been talking intermittently over the weekend about the situation in Derek's home and Derek bristles at the reminder of Friday’s dinner; the idea that Stiles is still worrying about it making his guilt cut deeper. He’s hoping not to discuss it again, but it could be important to Stiles that they do, face to face.

As for the situation? Derek was giving his mom the cold shoulder, pretending Richard didn't exist. Richard, most infuriatingly, was acting like he's done Derek a favor. Derek's mom clearly wanted to apologize but was too proud to do so. Cora and Isaac were skulking around quietly at home and decidedly _not_ bringing it up. Classic upper-middle class standoff.

"With... my mom? The same, I guess. She hasn't been in touch today. You don’t have to keep _asking_ , you know. It wasn’t your fault."

"No, I mean--Today, here at school. People are talking."

Derek's brows jump. Because of his shitty morning and subsequent day, he’d been too busy to notice anything weird. He leans back to get a look at Stiles’ face.

"Talking?"

"About, uh... Nobody's said anything to you?"

Stiles looks distraught now and Derek moves his grip up to his shoulder where he moves his thumb in soothing circles. "I haven't talked to anybody. Is everything okay?"

Stiles swallows, nodding with relief. "Yeah, it's fine, I just-- people seem to have a lot of opinions. About us. About _me,_ and--"

"And that's their opinion?" Derek replies, inflecting it as if to say _'so?'_

Stiles' eyes search his. They're younger when he's unsure, wide and semi-golden and shiny-bright. Something about the way Stiles goes through life with his mouth half-cocked and one eyebrow raised, makes him look like someone who's been around a lot longer than he actually has. Seeing Stiles like this - scared, unsure, vulnerable - reminds Derek that maybe they’re on a little more even ground than it feels most of the time.

He throws up a shoulder. “Right,” he plays off, blinking rapidly. “I just wanted to check in with you.” The switch back to in-control and uncaring is almost fascinating.

“I’m good,” Derek says easily, one eye on Stiles’ expression as he finally retrieves his body wash from the bottom of his gym bag. Daringly, he stalks forward a bit. “More than good,” he says with entendre, dipping in to press his lips to Stiles’.

The second Derek does it, Stiles seems to slump with relief. There’s something about it that warms Derek’s insides - that Stiles was worried about him, that he took the time to check in. That Stiles is still _in_ this, after everything that happened this weekend- more so than just talking like he is when there’s nobody else around to hear.

The kiss tastes of chlorine and the Mountain Dew still clinging to Stiles’ bottom lip. Derek sucks on it thirstily until the taste fades and Stiles is clinging to _him,_ walking him back into the locker. Derek would worry that he’s developing some kind of exhibitionist streak, if the rate the blood in his body is flowing south is any indication along with the fact that this is his _second_ time making out with Stiles on school grounds, but it’s especially difficult to be cognizant about it when Stiles is pinning him to his locker by his hips.

“Are--” Derek pants when Stiles moves on to his earlobe, “Are _you_ , okay with it?”

There’s definitely a reason Stiles came here, to the part of school he has really no business being in - and Derek gets the feeling it isn’t just for him.

“Mhmm,” Stiles hums around the flesh of Derek’s ear, making delighted little _frissons_ ripple down his spine and pool in the base of his stomach, meeting where his hand is cupping Derek’s butt possessively. He pulls back to look down at Derek’s body like he’s something Stiles caught in a snare - like he’s deciding where to start - then dives back in.

“And there I was,” he comments, “Disappointed that summer was over and I wouldn’t get you in your swim trunks.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek insists fondly, turning to watch Stiles’ path continue to the meat of his shoulder, his chest. Stiles looks up at him, an indulging, devilish smile on his face.

“I’m _great_ \- can I suck your dick now?”

Braver men than Derek would have struggled not to go from curiously-interested to full hardness at those words. Derek thuds his head back against his locker door - his eyes screwed shut as Stiles’ tongue skates over his skin; down, down, down.

The muscles in Derek’s thigh contract when Stiles’ hand first touches him, warm and questing up the leg of his shorts. He gives Derek’s ass a playful squeeze, crouching lower in front.

“Seriously need to start doing this in more private places,” Derek remarks, glancing at the door. Stiles’ mouth is hot on his colder skin, and when he mouths across the top of his waistband and over the front of his wet trunks, the heat seeps through the fabric, making his dick twitch anticipatorily.

“It’s plenty private,” Stiles argues. He’s propped on the bench now, delicately folding the elastic of Derek's shorts down to reveal the starved head of his dick. Derek doesn’t even need to look to know it’s flushed deep red, almost embarrassingly needy - it chases each touch and subtle change in temperature with a tilt of his hips.Derek’s abs contract; Stiles splays a palm over his sternum, keeping him in place when the first sweet little suckle almost cripples him.

 _“Fuck,”_ Derek curses, and Stiles hums again - that almost uninterested tease of a sound that switches something in Derek’s brain and makes him feel wanton and desperate for this. He fuses his own hands to the lockers, huffing deep breaths through his nose and trying to ignore the pleased sounds coming from below. Stiles always seems to count it as a victory if he can make Derek swear.

“Shy?” Stiles asks, then nuzzles into the damp trail of hair at the bottom of Derek’s stomach as he completely exposes him to the air. Derek bites back a retort, letting himself instead fist his hand in Stiles’ unruly quiff - a brunet mess, really - as he slowly takes him in, hand expertly jerking him right to the edge.

The way Stiles looks up at him then steals Derek’s breath. There’s utter joy and contentment in his eyes, a hooded gaze full of quiet, peaceful satisfaction, lips stretched lovingly around his cock. When Stiles starts moving his head, adding a little suction, Derek can’t even try to keep silent.

“Shh,” Stiles scolds, pulling off for a second and flashing him a grin. The alternating temperatures on his most sensitive of parts make Derek squeeze his eyes shut, breathe deeply to gather himself. “Don’t make me shut you up...”

Derek blinks open and looks down at him with a frown, opens his mouth to speak but Stiles claps a hand over it and gets right back to sucking all lower-body strength out through the head of his cock. Derek’s skin is goosepimpled and the wet, hot heat of Stiles’ mouth feels like the most amazing contrast and he soon forgets to protest, groaning and grunting through the muffled press of Stiles’ palm.

He does this _tongue_ thing, then takes Derek a little deeper, the hand stroking him migrates to his hip, then the swell of his ass. Deeper again. There’s this little tease of Stiles’ finger, right at his crease at the same moment Derek hits the back of Stiles’ throat. The surprises forces Derek’s orgasm further and he comes messily and without warning, pulling back and spurting the last few drops onto Stiles’ parted lips. He stares up at Derek, chin wet and eyes bright, obnoxiously proud.

“Oh my god,” Derek pants, “I’m sorry I didn’t warn--”

Stiles surges up and kisses his half-spoken apologies away sloppily, getting his own dick out and rutting against the crease of Derek’s thigh, _stroking_ , saying, “So hot, holy shit, that was so, you’re so--”

Derek takes over for his hand, equally as clumsy, his own come slicking the way. He arranges his concentration into a rhythm, tries to make it good. Good for Stiles, and he must - after a minute of encouraging murmurs and tight, sleek jerks, there’s a searing, moist rush over Derek’s dick, their mingled releases a garish muddle saturating Derek’s shorts.

 _Holy shit_ , Derek thinks.

“Holy shit,” Stiles laughs breathlessly. He rest his forehead in Derek’s neck and his shoulders shake mirthfully. “I honestly didn’t come in here to do that.” Derek just makes a nonsense sound in return, blinking up at the stained ceiling of the locker room.

Stiles straightens up, kissing him fiercely. When he pulls back, his t-shirt is damp in certain spots, a perfect imprint of the hair on Derek’s torso. Something within him purrs with pride at the sight of it. It makes him want to show everyone what he’s got, no matter how subtle the way.

“Will you come to the dance with me?” Derek blurts. He wants to share it all with him - silly, mundane school dances and makeouts beneath the bleachers and drive-thru before curfew. Screw it.

Stiles blinks at him, clearly taken-aback. “Dance?”

“The Unity Dance. They announced it in homeroom. It’s probably going to be really lame, but I figured if we went together...” Derek fluffs at his hair, abruptly aware that it’s probably still plastered to his head, that he’s not even dressed. He maybe should have thought this through...

“Are you sure you shouldn’t-- Isn’t there someone more...” Stiles licks his lips, reads the hint of confusion on Derek’s face. His voice steadies. “You want me to come?”

Derek presses a kiss to his lips, understanding the apprehension. He should have led up to this better. Too late now.

“There’s nobody else I’d rather take,” he tells him honestly.

Stiles’ mouth quirks, his gaze flickers away and he nods. “Sure,” he says, pecking Derek on the cheek before disentangling himself enough to hold his jeans up. “I’d love to.”

He backs towards the sinks, giving Derek a sly once over. Bashful, Derek picks his wet towel up and holds it in front of his spent dick.

“Yeah, I’m gonna clean up,” Stiles snorts. “I’ll wait outside while you hit the showers.”

Derek smiles back, a lightness in his chest at the definite answer. Stiles is coming with him. Stiles _wants_ to come with him. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Don’t leave.”

Stiles crosses his heart meaningfully, then turns the corner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are probably the only thing keeping this story written at this point. 
> 
> I am howlnatural on Tumblr and I actually use it again!


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